diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/43726-h/43726-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/43726-h/43726-h.htm | 9173 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9173 deletions
diff --git a/old/43726-h/43726-h.htm b/old/43726-h/43726-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index f02d635..0000000 --- a/old/43726-h/43726-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9173 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html -PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> -<head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> -<title> -The Days of Auld Lang Syne, by Ian Maclaren -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - <!-- - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 100%; font-style:normal; - margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; - text-align: right;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 25%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - --> -</style> -</head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Days of Auld Lang Syne, by Ian MacLaren - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Days of Auld Lang Syne - -Author: Ian MacLaren - -Release Date: September 15, 2013 [EBook #43726] -Last Updated: March 1, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAYS OF AULD LANG SYNE *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger - - - - - -</pre> - -<div style="height: 8em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h1> -THE DAYS OF AULD LANG SYNE -</h1> -<h2> -By Ian MacLaren -</h2> -<p> -<br /> -</p> -<h4> -1895 -</h4> -<p> -<br /> -</p> -<h3> -TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER -</h3> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<p> -<b>CONTENTS</b> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A TRIUMPH IN DIPLOMACY </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0002"> FOR CONSCIENCE SAKE </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0003"> A MANIFEST JUDGMENT </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0004"> DRUMSHEUGH'S LOVE STORY </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0005"> PAST REDEMPTION </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0006"> GOOD NEWS FROM A FAR COUNTRY </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0007"> JAMIE </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0008"> SERVANT LASS </a> -</p> -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#link2H_4_0009"> OOR LANG HAME </a> -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -A TRIUMPH IN DIPLOMACY -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>arms were held on lease in Drumtochty, and according to a good old custom -descended from father to son, so that some of the farmers' forbears had -been tenants as long as Lord Kilspindie's ancestors had been owners. If a -family died out, then a successor from foreign parts had to be introduced, -and it was in this way Milton made his appearance and scandalised the Glen -with a new religion. It happened also in our time that Gormack, having -quarrelled with the factor about a feeding byre he wanted built, flung up -his lease in a huff, and it was taken at an enormous increase by a -guileless tradesman from Muirtown, who had made his money by selling -“pigs” (crockery-ware), and believed that agriculture came by inspiration. -Optimists expected that his cash might last for two years, but pessimists -declared their belief that a year would see the end of the “merchant's” - experiment, and Gormack watched the course of events from a hired house at -Kildrummie. -</p> -<p> -Jamie Soutar used to give him “a cry” on his way to the station, and -brought him the latest news. -</p> -<p> -“It's maybe juist as weel that ye retired frae business, Gormack, for the -auld fairm's that spruced up ye wud hardly ken it wes the same place. -</p> -<p> -“The merchant's put ventilators intae the feedin' byre, and he's speakin' -aboot glass windows tae keep the stots frae wearyin', an' as for -inventions, the place is fair scatted up wi' them. There's ain that took -me awfu'; it's for peelin' the neeps tae mak them tasty for the cattle -beasts. -</p> -<p> -“Ye hed nae method, man, and a' dinna believe ye hed an inspection a' the -years ye were at Gormack. Noo, the merchant is up at half eicht, and gaes -ower the hale steadin' wi' Robbie Duff at his heels, him 'at he's got for -idle grieve, an' he tries the corners wi' his handkerchief tae see that -there's nae stoor (dust). -</p> -<p> -“It wud dae ye gude tae see his library; the laist day I saw him he wes -readin' a book on 'Comparative Agriculture' afore his door, and he -explained hoo they grow the maize in Sooth Ameriky; it wes verra -interestin'; a' never got as muckle information frae ony fairmer in -Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -“A'm gled ye cam in, Jamie,” was all Gormack said, “for I wes near takin' -this hoose on a three-year lease. Ae year 'ill be eneuch noo, a'm -thinkin'.” - </p> -<p> -Within eighteen months of his removal Gormack was again in possession at -the old rent, and with a rebate for the first year to compensate him for -the merchant's improvements. -</p> -<p> -“It 'ill tak the feck o' twa years,” he explained in the kirkyard, “tae -bring the place roond an' pit the auld face on it. -</p> -<p> -“The byres are nae better than a pair o' fanners wi' wind, and if he hesna -planted the laighfield wf berry bushes; an' a've seen the barley -fifty-five pund wecht in that very field. -</p> -<p> -“It's a doonricht sin tae abuse the land like yon, but it 'ill be a -lesson, neeburs, an' a'm no expeckin' anither pig merchant 'ill get a -fairm in Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -This incident raised Gormack into a historical personage, and invested him -with an association of humour for the rest of his life, so that when -conversation languished in the third some one would ask Gormack “what he -hed dune wi' his ventilators,” or “hoo the berry hairst wes shapin' this -year.” - </p> -<p> -One could not expect a comedy of this kind twice in a generation, but the -arranging of a lease was always an event of the first order in our -commonwealth, and afforded fine play for every resource of diplomacy. The -two contracting parties were the factor, who spent his days in defending -his chief's property from the predatory instincts of enterprising farmers, -and knew every move of the game, a man of shrewd experience, imperturbable -good humour, and many wiles, and on the other side, a farmer whose wits -had been sharpened by the Shorter Catechism since he was a boy,—with -the Glen as judges. Farms were not put in the <i>Advertiser</i> on this -estate, and thrown open to the public from Dan to Beersheba, so that there -was little risk of the tenant losing his home. Neither did the adjustment -of rent give serious trouble, as the fair value of every farm, down to the -bit of hill above the arable land and the strips of natural grass along -the burns, was known to a pound. There were skirmishes over the rent, of -course, but the battle-ground was the number of improvements which the -tenant could wring from the landlord at the making of the lease. Had a -tenant been in danger of eviction, then the Glen had risen in arms, as it -did in the case of Burnbrae; but this was a harmless trial of strength -which the Glen watched with critical impartiality. The game was played -slowly between seedtime and harvest, and each move was reported in the -kirkyard. Its value was appreciated at once, and although there was -greater satisfaction when a neighbour won, yet any successful stroke of -the factor's was keenly enjoyed—the beaten party himself conceding -its cleverness. When the factor so manipulated the conditions of draining -Netherton's meadow land that Netherton had to pay for the tiles, the -kirkyard chuckled, and Netherton admitted next market that the factor “wes -a lad”—meaning a compliment to his sharpness, for all things were -fair in this war—and when Drumsheugh involved the same factor in so -many different and unconnected promises of repairs that it was found -cheaper in the end to build him a new steading, the fathers had no bounds -to their delight; and Whinnie, who took an hour longer than any other man -to get a proper hold of anything, suddenly slapped his leg in the middle -of the sermon. -</p> -<p> -No genuine Scotchman ever thought the less of a neighbour because he could -drive a hard bargain, and any sign of weakness in such encounters exposed -a man to special contempt in our community. No mercy was shown to one who -did not pay the last farthing when a bargain had been made, but there was -little respect for the man who did not secure the same farthing when the -bargain was being made. If a Drumtochty farmer had allowed his potatoes to -go to “Piggie” Walker at that simple-minded merchant's first offer, -instead of keeping “Pig-gie” all day and screwing him up ten shillings an -acre every second hour, we would have shaken our heads over him as if he -had been drinking, and the well-known fact that Drumsheugh had worsted -dealers from far and near at Muirtown market for a generation was not his -least solid claim on our respect. When Mrs. Macfadyen allowed it to ooze -out in the Kildrummie train that she had obtained a penny above the market -price for her butter, she received a tribute of silent admiration, broken -only by an emphatic “Sall” from Hillocks, while Drumsheugh expressed -himself freely on the way up: -</p> -<p> -“Elspeth's an able wumman; there 's no a slack bit aboot her. She wud get -her meat frae among ither fouks' feet.” - </p> -<p> -There never lived a more modest or unassuming people, but the horse couper -that tried to play upon their simplicity did not boast afterwards, and no -one was known to grow rich on his dealings with Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -This genius for bargaining was of course seen to most advantage in the -affair of a lease; and a year ahead, long before lease had been mentioned, -a “cannie” man like Hillocks would be preparing for the campaign. Broken -panes of glass in the stable were stuffed with straw after a very generous -fashion; cracks in a byre door were clouted over with large pieces of -white wood; rickety palings were ostentatiously supported; and the -interior of Hillocks' house suggested hard-working and cleanly poverty -struggling to cover the defects of a hovel. Neighbours dropping in during -those days found Hillocks wandering about with a hammer, putting in a nail -here and a nail there, or on the top of the barn trying to make it -water-tight before winter, with the air of one stopping leaks in the hope -of keeping the ship afloat till she reaches port. But he made no -complaint, and had an air of forced cheerfulness. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, yir no interruptin' me; a 'm rael gled tae see ye; a' wes juist -doin' what a' cud tae keep things thegither. -</p> -<p> -“An auld buildin's a sair trachle, an' yir feared tae meddle wi 't, for ye -micht bring it doon aboot yir ears. -</p> -<p> -“But it's no reasonable tae expeck it tae last for ever; it's dune weel -and served its time; a' mind it as snod a steadin' as ye wud wish tae see, -when a' wes a laddie saxty year past. -</p> -<p> -“Come in tae the hoose, and we 'ill see what the gude wife hes in her -cupboard. Come what may, the 'ill aye be a drop for a freend as lang as -a'm leevin.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna put yir hat there, for the plaister's been failin', an' it micht -white it; come ower here frae the window; it's no very fast, and the wind -comes in at the holes. Man, it 's a pleesure tae see ye, an' here's yir -gude health.” - </p> -<p> -When Hillocks went abroad to kirk or market he made a brave endeavour to -conceal his depression, but it was less than successful. -</p> -<p> -“Yon 's no a bad show o' aits ye hae in the wast park the year, Hillocks; -a'm thinkin' the 'ill buke weel.” - </p> -<p> -“Their lukes are the best o' them, Netherton; they 're thin on the grund -an' sma' in the head, but a' cudna expeck better, for the land 's fair -worn oot; it wes a gude fairm aince, wi' maybe thirty stacks in the yaird -every hairst, and noo a'm no lookin' for mair than twenty the year.” - </p> -<p> -“Weel, there's nae mistak aboot yir neeps, at ony rate; ye canna see a -dreel noo.” - </p> -<p> -“That wes guano, Netherton; a'hed tae dae something tae get an ootcome wi' -ae crap, at ony rate; we maun get the rent some road, ye ken, and pay oor -just debts.” - </p> -<p> -Hillocks conveyed the impression that he was gaining a bare existence, but -that he could not maintain the fight for more than a year, and the third -became thoughtful. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mind, Netherton,” inquired Drumsheugh on his way from Muirtown -station to the market, “hoo mony years Hillocks's 'tack' (lease) hes tae -rin?” - </p> -<p> -“No abune twa or three at maist; a 'm no sure if he hes as muckle.” - </p> -<p> -“It's oot Martinmas a year as sure yir stannin' there; he 's an auld -farrant (far-seeing) lad, Hillocks.” - </p> -<p> -It was known within a week that Hillocks was setting things in order for -the battle. -</p> -<p> -The shrewdest people have some weak point, and Drumtochty was subject to -the delusion that old Peter Robertson, the land steward, had an immense -back-stairs influence with the factor and his lordship. No one could -affirm that Peter had ever said as much, but he never denied it, not -having been born in Drumtochty in vain. He had a habit of detaching -himself from the fathers and looking in an abstracted way over the wall -when they were discussing the factor or the prospects of a lease, which -was more than words, and indeed was equal to a small annual income. -</p> -<p> -“Ye ken mair o' this than ony o' us, a 'm thinkin', Peter, if ye cud open -yir mooth; they say naebody's word gaes farther wi' his lordship.” - </p> -<p> -“There's some fouk say a lot of havers, Drumsheugh, an' it 's no a' true -ye hear,” and after a pause Peter would purse his lips and nod. “A 'm no -at leeberty tae speak, an' ye maunna press me.” - </p> -<p> -When he disappeared into the kirk his very gait was full of mystery, and -the fathers seemed to see his lordship and Peter sitting in council for -nights together. -</p> -<p> -“Didna a' tell ye, neeburs?” said Drumsheugh triumphantly; “ye 'ill no gae -far wrang gin ye hae Peter on yir side.” - </p> -<p> -Hillocks held this faith, and added works also, for he compassed Peter -with observances all the critical year, although the word lease never -passed between them. -</p> -<p> -“Ye wud be the better o' new seed, Peter,” Hillocks remarked casually, as -he came on the land steward busy in his potato patch. “A 've some kidneys -a' dinna ken what tae dae wi'; a 'll send ye up a bag.” - </p> -<p> -“It's rael kind of ye, Hillocks, but ye were aye neeburly.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna speak o't; that 's naething atween auld neeburs. Man, ye micht gie -'s a look in when yir passin' on yir trokes. The gude wife hes some graund -eggs for setting.” - </p> -<p> -It was considered a happy device to get Peter to the spot, and Hillocks's -management of the visit was a work of art. -</p> -<p> -“Maister Robertson wud maybe like tae see thae kebbocks (cheeses) yir -sending aff tae Muirtown, gude wife, afore we hae oor tea. -</p> -<p> -“We canna get intae the granary the richt way, for the stair is no chancy -noo, an' it wudna dae tae hae an accident wi' his lordship's land -steward,” and Hillocks exchanged boxes over the soothing words. -</p> -<p> -“We 'ill get through the corn-room, but Losh sake, tak care ye dinna trip -in the holes o' the floor. A' canna mend mair at it, an' it's scandalous -for wastin' the grain. -</p> -<p> -“It's no sae bad a granary if we hedna tae keep the horses' hay in it, for -want o' a richt loft. -</p> -<p> -“Man, there's times in winter a 'm at ma wits' end wi' a' the cattle in -aboot, an' naethin' for them but an open reed (court), an' the wife raging -for a calves' byre; but that's no what we cam here for, tae haver aboot -the steadin'.” - </p> -<p> -“Ay, they're bonnie kebbocks, and when yir crops fail, ye 're gled eneuch -tae get a pund or twa oot o' the milk.” - </p> -<p> -And if his Lordship had ever dreamt of taking Peter's evidence, it would -have gone to show that Hillocks's steading was a disgrace to the property. -</p> -<p> -If any one could inveigle Lord Kilspindie himself to visit a farm within -sight of the new lease, he had some reason for congratulation, and his -lordship, who was not ignorant of such devices, used to avoid farms at -such times with carefulness. But he was sometimes off his guard, and when -Mrs. Macfadyen met him by accident at the foot of her garden and invited -him to rest, he was caught by the lure of her conversation, and turned -aside with a friend to hear again the story of Mr. Pittendriegh's goat. -</p> -<p> -“Well, how have you been, Mrs. Macfadyen, as young as ever, I see, eh? And -how many new stories have you got for me? But, bless my soul, what's -this?” and his lordship might well be astonished at the sight. -</p> -<p> -Upon the gravel walk outside the door, Elspeth had placed in a row all her -kitchen and parlour chairs, and on each stood a big dish of milk, while a -varied covering for this open-air dairy had been extemporised out of -Jeems' Sabbath umbrella, a tea-tray, a copy of the <i>Advertiser</i>, and -a picture of the battle of Waterloo Elspeth had bought from a packman. It -was an amazing spectacle, and one not lightly to be forgotten. -</p> -<p> -“A 'm clean ashamed that ye sud hae seen sic an exhibition, ma lord, and -gin a 'd hed time it wud hae been cleared awa.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye see oor dairy 's that sma' and close that a' daurna keep the mulk in -'t a' the het days, an' sae a' aye gie it an airin'; a' wud keep it in -anither place, but there's barely room for the bairns an' oorsels.” - </p> -<p> -Then Elspeth apologised for speaking about household affairs to his -lordship, and delighted him with all the gossip of the district, told in -her best style, and three new stories, till he promised to build her a -dairy and a bed-room for Elsie, to repair the byres, and renew the lease -at the old terms. -</p> -<p> -Elspeth said so at least to the factor, and when he inquired concerning -the truth of this foolish concession, Kilspindie laughed, and declared -that if he had sat longer he might have had to rebuild the whole place. -</p> -<p> -As Hillocks could not expect any help from personal fascinations, he had -to depend on his own sagacity, and after he had laboured for six months -creating an atmosphere, operations began one day at Muirtown market. The -factor and he happened to meet by the merest accident, and laid the first -parallels. -</p> -<p> -“Man, Hillocks, is that you? I hevna seen ye since last rent time. I hear -ye 're githering the bawbees thegither as usual; ye 'ill be buying a farm -o' yir own soon.” - </p> -<p> -“Nae fear o' that, Maister Leslie; it's a' we can dae tae get a livin'; we -'re juist fechtin' awa'; but it comes harder on me noo that a'm gettin' on -in years.” - </p> -<p> -“Toots, nonsense, ye're makin' a hundred clear off that farm if ye mak a -penny,” and then, as a sudden thought, “When is your tack out? it canna -hae lang tae run.” - </p> -<p> -“Weel,” said Hillocks, as if the matter had quite escaped him also, “a' -believe ye 're richt; it dis rin oot this verra Martinmas.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye'ill need tae be thinkin', Hillocks, what rise ye can offer; his -lordship 'ill be expeckin' fifty pund at the least.” - </p> -<p> -Hillocks laughed aloud, as if the factor had made a successful joke. -</p> -<p> -“Ye wull hae yir fun, Maister Leslie, but ye ken hoo it maun gae fine. The -gude wife an' me were calculating juist by chance, this verra mornin', and -we baith settled that we cudna face a new lease comfortable wi' less than -a fifty pund reduction, but we micht scrape on wi' forty.” - </p> -<p> -“You and the wife 'ill hae tae revise yir calculations then, an' a'll see -ye again when ye 're reasonable.” - </p> -<p> -Three weeks later there was another accidental meeting, when the factor -and Hillocks discussed the price of fat cattle at length, and then drifted -into the lease question before parting. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, Hillocks, what aboot that rise? will ye manage the fifty, or must -we let ye have it at forty?” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna speak like that, for it 's no jokin' maitter tae me; we micht dae -wi' five-and-twenty aff, or even twenty, but a' dinna believe his lordship -wud like to see ain o' his auldest tenants squeezed.” - </p> -<p> -“It's no likely his lordship 'ill take a penny off when he's been -expecting a rise; so I 'll just need to put the farm in the <i>Advertiser</i>—'the -present tenant not offering '; but I 'll wait a month to let ye think over -it.” - </p> -<p> -When they parted both knew that the rent would be settled, as it was next -Friday, on the old terms. -</p> -<p> -Opinion in the kirkyard was divided over this part of the bargain, a -minority speaking of it as a drawn battle, but the majority deciding that -Hillocks had wrested at least ten pounds from the factor, which on the -tack of nineteen years would come to £190. So far Hillocks had done well, -but the serious fighting was still to come. -</p> -<p> -One June day Hillocks sauntered into the factor's office and spent half an -hour in explaining the condition of the turnip “breer” in Drumtochty, and -then reminded the factor that he had not specified the improvements that -would be granted with the new lease. -</p> -<p> -“Improvements,” stormed the factor. “Ye're the most barefaced fellow on -the estate, Hillocks; with a rent like that ye can do yir own repairs,” - roughly calculating all the time what must be allowed. -</p> -<p> -Hillocks opened his pocket-book, which contained in its various divisions -a parcel of notes, a sample of oats, a whip lash, a bolus for a horse, and -a packet of garden seeds, and finally extricated a scrap of paper. -</p> -<p> -“Me and the wife juist made a bit note o' the necessaries that we maun -hae, and we 're sure ye 're no the gentleman tae refuse them. -</p> -<p> -“New windows tae the hoose, an' a bit place for dishes, and maybe a twenty -pund note for plastering and painting; that's naething. -</p> -<p> -“Next, a new stable an' twa new byres, as weel as covering the reed.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye may as well say a new steadin' at once and save time. Man, what do you -mean by coming and havering here with your papers?” - </p> -<p> -“Weel, if ye dinna believe me, ask Peter Robertson, for the condeetion o' -the oot-houses is clean reediklus.” - </p> -<p> -So it was agreed that the factor should drive out to see for himself, and -the kirkyard felt that Hillocks was distinctly holding his own although no -one expected him to get the reed covered. -</p> -<p> -Hillocks received the great man with obsequious courtesy, and the gude -wife gave him of her best, and then they proceeded to business. The factor -laughed to scorn the idea that Lord Kilspindie should do anything for the -house, but took the bitterness out of the refusal by a well-timed -compliment to Mrs. Stirton's skill, and declaring she could set up the -house with the profits of one summer's butter. Hillocks knew better than -try to impress the factor himself by holes in the roof, and they argued -greater matters, with the result that the stable was allowed and the byres -refused, which was exactly what Hillocks anticipated. The reed roof was -excluded as preposterous in cost, but one or two lighter repairs were -given as a consolation. -</p> -<p> -Hillocks considered that on the whole he was doing well, and he took the -factor round the farm in fair heart, although his face was that of a man -robbed and spoiled. -</p> -<p> -Hillocks was told he need not think of wire-fencing, but if he chose to -put up new palings he might have the fir from the Kilspindie woods, and if -he did some draining, the estate would pay the cost of tiles. When -Hillocks brought the factor back to the house for a cup of tea before -parting, he explained to his wife that he was afraid they would have to -leave in November—the hardness of the factor left no alternative. -</p> -<p> -Then they fought the battle of the cattle reed up and down, in and out, -for an hour, till the factor, who knew that Hillocks was a careful and -honest tenant, laid down his ultimatum. -</p> -<p> -“There's not been a tenant in my time so well treated, but if ye see the -draining is well done, I'll let you have the reed.” - </p> -<p> -“A' suppose,” said Hillocks, “a 'll need tae fall in.” And he reported his -achievement to the kirkyard next Sabbath in the tone of one who could now -look forward to nothing but a life of grinding poverty. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -FOR CONSCIENCE SAKE -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>o man was better liked or more respected than Burnbrae, but the parish -was not able to take more than a languid interest in the renewal of his -lease, because it was understood that he would get it on his own terms. -</p> -<p> -Drumsheugh indeed stated the situation admirably one Sabbath in the -kirkyard. -</p> -<p> -“Whatever is a fair rent atween man an' man Burnbrae 'ill offer, and what -he canna gie is no worth hevin' frae anither man. -</p> -<p> -“As for buildings, he 'ill juist tell the factor onything that's needfu', -an' his lordship 'ill be content. -</p> -<p> -“Noo, here's Hillocks; he'd argle-bargle wi' the factor for a summer, an' -a'm no blamin' him, for it 's a fine ploy an' rael interestin' tae the -pairish, but it's doonricht wark wi' Burnbrae. -</p> -<p> -“A 've kent him since he wes a laddie, and a tell ye there's nae -dukery-packery (trickery) aboot Burnbrae; he's a straicht man an' a gude -neebur. He 'ill be settlin' wi' the new factor this week, a' wes hearin'.” - </p> -<p> -Next Sabbath the kirkyard was thrown into a state approaching excitement -by Jamie Soutar, who, in the course of some remarks on the prospects of -harvest, casually mentioned that Burnbrae had been refused his lease, and -would be leaving Drumtochty at Martinmas. -</p> -<p> -“What for?” said Drumsheugh sharply; while Hillocks, who had been offering -his box to Whinnie, remained with outstretched arm. -</p> -<p> -“Naethin' that ye wud expeck, but juist some bit differ wi' the new factor -aboot leavin' his kirk an' jining the lave o' us in the Auld Kirk. Noo, if -it hed been ower a cattle reed ye cud hae understude it, but for a man——” - </p> -<p> -“Nae mair o' yir havers, Jamie,” broke in Drumsheugh, “and keep yir tongue -aff Burnbrae; man, ye gied me a fricht.” - </p> -<p> -“Weel, weel, ye dinna believe me, but it wes the gude wife hersel' that -said it tae me, and she wes terrible cast doon. They 've been a' their -merried life in the place, an' weemen tak ill wi' changes when they're -gettin' up in years.” - </p> -<p> -“A' canna believe it, Jamie”—although Drumsheugh was plainly -alarmed; “a 'll grant ye that the new factor is little better than a -waufie, an' a peetifu' dooncome frae Maister Leslie, but he daurna meddle -wi' a man's releegion. -</p> -<p> -“Bigger men than the factors tried that trade in the auld days, and they -didna come oot verra weel. Eh, Jamie, ye ken thae stories better than ony -o' us.” - </p> -<p> -“Some o' them cam oot withoot their heads,” said Jamie, with marked -satisfaction. -</p> -<p> -“Forby that,” continued Drumsheugh, gaining conviction. “What dis the -wratch ken aither aboot the Auld Kirk or Free Kirk? if he didna ask me -laist month hoo mony P. and O.'s we hed in the glen, meanin' U.P.'s, a'm -jidgin'. -</p> -<p> -“He's an Esculopian (Episcopalian) himsel', if he gaes onywhere, an' it -wud be a scannal for the like o' him tae mention the word kirk tae -Burnbrae.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye never ken what a factor 'ill dae,” answered Jamie, whose prejudices -were invincible, “but the chances are that it 'ill be mischief, setting -the tenant against the landlord and the landlord against the tenant; -tyrannising ower the ane till he daurna lift his head, an' pushioning the -mind o' the ither till he disna ken a true man when he sees him.” - </p> -<p> -“Preserve 's!” exclaimed Hillocks, amazed at Jamie's eloquence, for the -wrong of Burnbrae had roused our cynic to genuine passion, and his little -affectations had melted in the white heat. -</p> -<p> -“What richt hes ony man to hand ower the families that hev been on his -estate afore he wes born tae be harried an' insulted by some domineering -upstart of a factor, an' then tae spend the money wrung frae the land by -honest fouks amang strangers and foreigners? -</p> -<p> -“What ails the landlords that they wunna live amang their ain people and -oversee their ain affairs, so that laird and farmer can mak their bargain -wi' nae time-serving interloper atween, an' the puirest cottar on an -estate hae the richt tae see the man on whose lands he lives, as did his -fathers before him? -</p> -<p> -“A'm no sayin' a word, mind ye, against Maister Leslie, wha's dead and -gaen, or ony factor like him; he aye made the maist he cud for his -lordship, an' that wes what he wes paid for; but he wes a fair-dealin' and -gude-hearted man, an' he 'ill be sairly missed an' murned afore we 're -dune wi' his successor. -</p> -<p> -“Gin ony man hes sae muckle land that he disna know the fouk that sow an' -reap it, then a'm judgin' that he hes ower muckle for the gude o' the -commonwealth; an' gin ony landlord needs help, let him get some man o' oor -ain flesh an' bluid tae guide his affairs. -</p> -<p> -“But div ye ken, neeburs, what his lordship hes dune, and what sort o' man -he's set ower us, tae meddle wi' affairs he kens naethin' aboot, an' tae -trample on the conscience o' the best man in the Glen? Hae ye heard the -history o' oor new ruler?” - </p> -<p> -Drumtochty was in no mood to interrupt Jamie, who was full of power that -day. -</p> -<p> -“A 'll tell ye, then, what a've got frae a sure hand, an' it's the story -o' mony a factor that is hauding the stick ower the heids o' freeborn -Scottish men. -</p> -<p> -“He's the cousin of an English lord, whose forbears got a title by rouping -their votes, an' ony conscience they hed, tae the highest bidder in the -bad auld days o' the Georges—that's the kind o' bluid that 's in his -veins, an' it 's no clean. -</p> -<p> -“His fouk started him in the airmy, but he hed tae leave—cairds or -drink, or baith. He wes a wine-merchant for a whilie an' failed, and then -he wes agent for a manure company, till they sent him aboot his business. -</p> -<p> -“Aifterwards he sorned on his freends and gambled at the races, till his -cousin got roond Lord Kilspindie, and noo he 's left wi' the poor o' life -an' death ower fower pairishes while his lordship's awa' traivellin' for -his health in the East. -</p> -<p> -“It may be that he hes little releegion, as Drumsheugh says, an' we a' ken -he hes nae intelligence, but he hes plenty o' deevilry, an' he 's made a -beginnin' wi' persecutin' Burnbrae. -</p> -<p> -“A'm an Auld Kirk man,” concluded Jamie, “an' an Auld Kirk man a 'll dee -unless some misleared body tries tae drive me, an' then a' wud jine the -Free Kirk. Burnbrae is the stiffest Free Kirker in Drumtochty, an' mony an -argument a've hed wi' him, but that maks nae maitter the day. -</p> -<p> -“Ilka man hes a richt tae his ain thochts, an' is bund tae obey his -conscience accordin' tae his lichts, an' gin the best man that ever lived -is tae dictate oor releegion tae us, then oor fathers focht an' deed in -vain.” - </p> -<p> -Scottish reserve conceals a rich vein of heroic sentiment, and this -unexpected outburst of Jamie Soutar had an amazing effect on the fathers, -changing the fashion of their countenances and making them appear as new -men. When he began, they were a group of working farmers, of slouching -gait and hesitating speech and sordid habits, quickened for the moment by -curiosity to get a bit of parish news fresh from Jamie's sarcastic tongue; -as Jamie's fierce indignation rose to flame, a “dour” look came into their -faces, turning their eyes into steel, and tightening their lips like a -vice, and before he had finished every man stood straight at his full -height, with his shoulders set back and his head erect, while Drumsheugh -looked as if he saw an army in battle array, and even Whinnie grasped his -snuff-box in a closed fist as if it had been a drawn sword. It was the -danger signal of Scottish men, and ancient persecutors who gave no heed to -it in the past went crashing to their doom. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mean tae say, James Soutar,” said Drumsheugh in another voice than -his wont, quieter and sterner, “ye ken this thing for certain, that the -new factor hes offered Burnbrae the choice atween his kirk an' his fairm?” - </p> -<p> -“That is sae, Drumsheugh, as a 'm stannin' in this kirkyaird—although -Burnbrae himsel', honest man, hes said naething as yet—an' a' thocht -the suner the pairish kent the better.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye did weel, Jamie, an' a' tak back what a' said aboot jokin'; this 'ill -be nae jokin' maitter aither for the factor or Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -There was silence for a full minute, for Whinnie himself knew that it was -a crisis in Drumtochty, and the fathers waited for Drumsheugh to speak. -</p> -<p> -People admired him for his sharpness in bargaining, and laughed at a time -about his meanness in money affairs, but they knew that there was a stiff -backbone in Drumsheugh, and that in any straits of principle he would play -the man. -</p> -<p> -“This is a black beesiness, neeburs, an' nae man among us can see the end -o't, for gin they begin by tryin' tae harry the Frees intae the Auld Kirk, -the next thing they 'ill dae wull be tae drive us a' doon tae the English -Chaipel at Kildrummie.” - </p> -<p> -“There's juist ae mind, a' tak' it, wi' richt-thinkin' men,” and -Drumsheugh's glance settled on Hillocks, whose scheming ways had somewhat -sapped his manhood, and the unfortunate land-steward, whose position was -suddenly invested with associations of treachery. “We 'ill pay oor rent -and dae oor duty by the land like honest men, but we 'ill no tak oor -releegion, no, nor oor politics, frae ony livin' man, naither lord nor -factor. -</p> -<p> -“We 're a' sorry for Burnbrae, for the brunt o' the battle 'ill fa' on -him, an' he's been a gude neebur ta a' body, but there's nae fear o' him -buying his lease wi' his kirk. Ma certes, the factor chose the worst man -in the Glen for an aff go. Burnbrae wud raither see his hale plenishing -gae doon the Tochty than play Judas to his kirk. -</p> -<p> -“It's an awfu' peety that oor auld Scotch kirk wes split, and it wud be a -heartsome sicht tae see the Glen a' aneath ae roof aince a week. But ae -thing we maun grant, the Disruption lat the warld ken there wes some spunk -in Scotland. -</p> -<p> -“There 's nae man a' wud raither welcome tae oor kirk than Burnbrae, gin -he cam o' his ain free will, but it wud be better that the kirk sud stand -empty than be filled wi' a factor's hirelings.” - </p> -<p> -Domsie took Drumsheugh by the hand, and said something in Latin that -escaped the fathers, and then they went into kirk in single file with the -air of a regiment of soldiers. -</p> -<p> -Drumsheugh set in the “briest o' the laft,” as became a ruling elder, and -had such confidence in the minister's orthodoxy that he was accustomed to -meditate during the sermon, but on this memorable day he sat upright and -glared at the pulpit with a ferocious expression. The doctor was disturbed -by this unusual attention, and during his mid-sermon snuff sought in vain -for a reason, since the sermon, “On the Certainty of Harvest, proved by -the Laws of Nature and the Promises of Revelation,” was an annual event, -and Drumsheugh, walking by faith, had often given it his warm approval. He -had only once before seen the same look—after the great potato -calamity; and when the elder came to the manse, and they had agreed as to -the filling quality of the weather, the doctor inquired anxiously how -Drumsheygh had done with his potatoes. -</p> -<p> -“Weel eneuch,” with quite unaffected indifference. “Weel eneuch, as prices -are gaein', auchteen pund, 'Piggie' liftin' an' me cairtin'; but hevye -heard aboot Burnbrae?” and Drumsheugh announced that the factor, being -left unto the freedom of his own will, had opened a religious war in -Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -His voice vibrated with a new note as he stated the alternative offered to -Burnbrae, and the doctor, a man well fed and richly coloured, as became a -beneficed clergyman, turned purple. -</p> -<p> -“I told Kilspindie, the day before he left,” burst out the doctor, “that -he had made a mistake in bringing a stranger in John Leslie's place, who -was a cautious, sensible man, and never made a drop of bad blood all the -time he was factor. -</p> -<p> -“'Tomkyns is a very agreeable fellow, Davidson,' his lordship said to me, -'and a first-rate shot in the cover; besides, he has seen a good deal of -life, and knows how to manage men.' -</p> -<p> -“It's all bad life he's seen,' I said, 'and it's not dining and shooting -make a factor. That man 'ill stir up mischief on the estate before you -come back, as sure 's your name's Kilspin-die,' but I never expected it -would take this turn. -</p> -<p> -“Fool of a man,” and the doctor raged through the study, “does he not know -that it would be safer for him to turn the rotation of crops upside down -and to double every rent than to meddle with a man's religion in -Drum-tochty? -</p> -<p> -“Drumsheugh,” said the doctor, coming to a stand, “I've been minister of -this parish when there was only one church, and I've been minister since -the Free Church began. I saw half my people leave me, and there were hot -words going in '43; but nothing so base as this has been done during the -forty years of my office, and I call God to witness I have lived at peace -with all men. -</p> -<p> -“I would rather cut off my right hand than do an injury to Burnbrae or any -man for his faith, and it would break my heart if the Free Kirk supposed I -had anything to do with this deed. -</p> -<p> -“The factor is to be at the inn on Tuesday; I 'll go to him there and -then, and let him know that he cannot touch Burnbrae without rousing the -whole parish of Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill tak me wi' ye, sir, no tae speak, but juist tae let him see hoo -the Auld Kirk feels.” - </p> -<p> -“That I will, Drumsheugh; there's grit in the Glen; and look you, if you -meet Burnbrae coming from his kirk ye might just——” - </p> -<p> -“It wes in ma ain mind, doctor, tae sae a word for's a', an' noo a 'll -speak wi' authority. The Auld and the Frees shoother tae shoother for the -first time since '43—it 'ill be graund. -</p> -<p> -“Sall,” said Drumsheugh, as this new aspect of the situation opened, “the -factor hes stirred a wasp's byke when he meddled wi' Drumtochty.” The -council of the Frees had been somewhat divided that morning—most -holding stoutly that Doctor Davidson knew nothing of the factor's action, -a few in their bitterness being tempted to suspect every one, but Burnbrae -was full of charity. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna speak that wy, Netherton, for it's no Christian; Doctor Davidson -may be a Moderate, but he's a straicht-forward an' honourable gentleman, -as his father wes afore him, and hes never said 'kirk' to ane o' us save -in the wy o' freendliness a' his days. -</p> -<p> -“It 's no his blame nor Lord Kilspindie's, ye may lippen (trust) to that; -this trial is the wull o' God, an' we maun juist seek grace tae be -faithfu'.” - </p> -<p> -Every Sabbath a company of the Auld Kirk going west met a company of the -Frees going east, and nothing passed except a no'd or “a wee saft,” in the -case of drenching rain, not through any want of neighbourliness, but -because this was the nature God had been pleased to give Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -For the first time, the Auld Kirk insisted on a halt and conversation. It -did not sound much, being mainly a comparison of crops among the men, and -a brief review of the butter market by the women—Jamie Soutar only -going the length of saying that he was coming next Sabbath to hear the -last of Cunningham's “course”—but it was understood to be a -demonstration, and had its due effect. -</p> -<p> -“A' wes wrang,” said Netherton to Donald Menzies; “they 've hed naething -tae dae wi 't; a' kent that the meenute a' saw Jamie Soutar. Yon 's the -first time a' ever mind them stop-pin',” and a mile further on Netherton -added, “That's ae gude thing, at ony rate.” - </p> -<p> -Burnbrae and Drumsheugh met later, and alone, and there were no -preliminaries. -</p> -<p> -“Jamie Soutar told us this mornin', Burnbrae, in the kirkyaird, and a 've -come straicht the noo frae the doctor's study, and ye never saw a man mair -concerned. -</p> -<p> -“He chairged me tae say, withoot delay, that he wud raither hae cut aff -his richt hand than dae ye an ill, an' he 's gaein' this verra week tae -gie his mind tae the factor. -</p> -<p> -“Man, it wud hae dune your hert gude gin ye hed heard Jamie this mornin' -in the kirkyaird; he fair set the heather on fire—a'm no settled yet—we -'re a' wi' ye, every man o's. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, Burnbrae, we 're no tae lose ye yet; ye 'ill hae yir kirk and yir -fairm in spite o' a' the factors in Perthshire, but a'm expeckin' a -fecht.” - </p> -<p> -“Thank ye, Drumsheugh, thank ye kindly; and wull ye tell Doctor Davidson -that he hesna lived forty years in the Glen for naethin”? -</p> -<p> -“We said this mornin' that he wud scorn tae fill his kirk with renegades, -and sae wud ye a', but a' wesna prepared for sic feelin”. -</p> -<p> -“There's ae thing maks me prood o' the Glen: nae man, Auld or Free, hes -bidden me pit ma fairm afore ma kirk, but a 'body expecks me tae obey ma -conscience. -</p> -<p> -“A 've got till Monday week tae consider ma poseetion, and it 'ill depend -on the factor whether a 'll be allowed tae close ma days in the place -where ma people hae lived for sax generations, or gae forth tae dee in a -strange land.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna speak like that, Burnbrae; the doctor hesna hed his say yet; the -'ll be somethin' worth hearin' when he faces the factor,” and Drumsheugh -waited for the battle between Church and State with a pleasurable -anticipation of lively argument, tempered only by a sense of Burnbrae's -anxiety. -</p> -<p> -The factor, who was dressed in the height of sporting fashion and looked -as if he had lived hard, received the doctor and his henchman with -effusion. -</p> -<p> -“Doctor Davidson, Established Church clergyman of Drumtochty? quite a -pleasure to see you; one of our farmers, I think; seen you before, eh? -Drum, Drum—can't quite manage your heathenish names yet, d' ye know. -</p> -<p> -“Splendid grouse moor you 've got up here, and only one poacher in the -whole district, the keepers tell me. D' you take a gun yourself, Doctor—ah—Donaldson, -or does the kirk not allow that kind of thing?” and the factor's laugh had -a fine flavour of contempt for a Scotch country minister. -</p> -<p> -“My name is Davidson, at your service, Mr. Tomkyns, and I've shot with -Lord Kilspindie when we were both young fellows in the 'forties, from -Monday to Friday, eight hours a day, and our bag for the week was the -largest that has ever been made in Perthshire. -</p> -<p> -“But I came here on a matter of business, and, if you have no objection, I -would like to ask a simple question.” - </p> -<p> -“Delighted, I'm sure, to tell you anything you wish,” said the factor, -considerably sobered. -</p> -<p> -“Well a very unpleasant rumour is spreading through the parish that you -have refused to renew a farmer's lease unless he promised to leave the -Free Church?” - </p> -<p> -“An old fellow, standing very straight, with white hair, called—let -me see, Baxter; yes, that's it, Baxter; is that the man?” - </p> -<p> -“Yes, that is the name,” said the doctor, with growing severity; “John -Baxter of Bumbrae, the best man in the parish of Drumtochty; and I want an -answer to my question.” - </p> -<p> -“You will get it,” and Tomkyns fixed his eye-glass with an aggressive air. -“I certainly told Baxter that if he wanted to stay on the estate he must -give up his dissenting nonsense and go to the kirk.” - </p> -<p> -“May I ask your reason for this extraordinary condition?” and Drumsheugh -could see that the Doctor was getting dangerous. -</p> -<p> -“Got the wrinkle from my cousin's, Lord De Tomkyns's, land agent. He's -cleared all the Methodists off their estate. -</p> -<p> -“'The fewer the dissenters the better,' he said to me, 'when you come to -an election, d' you know.'” - </p> -<p> -“Are you mad, and worse than mad? Who gave you authority to interfere with -any man's religion? You know neither the thing you are doing, nor the men -with whom you have to do. Our farmers, thank God, are not ignorant serfs -who know nothing and cannot call their souls their own, but men who have -learned to think for themselves, and fear no one save Almighty God.” - </p> -<p> -The factor could hardly find his voice for amazement. -</p> -<p> -“But, I say, aren't you the Established Kirk minister and a Tory? This -seems to me rather strange talk, don't you know.” - </p> -<p> -“Perhaps it does,” replied the doctor, “but there is nothing a man feels -deeper than the disgrace of his own side.” - </p> -<p> -“Well,” said Tomkyns, stung by the word disgrace, “there are lots of -things I could have done for you, but if this is your line it may not be -quite so pleasant for yourself in Drumtochty, let me tell you.” - </p> -<p> -The doctor was never a diplomatic advocate, and now he allowed himself -full liberty. -</p> -<p> -“You make Drumtochty pleasant or unpleasant for me!” with a withering -glance at the factor. “There is one man in this parish neither you nor -your master nor the Queen herself, God bless her, can touch, and that is -the minister of the Established Church. -</p> -<p> -“I was here before you were born, and I 'll be here when you have been -dismissed from your office. There is just one favour I beg of you, and I -hope you will grant it”—the doctor was now thundering—“it is -that you never dare to speak to me the few times you may yet come to the -parish of Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -Drumsheugh went straight to give Burnbrae an account of this interview, -and his enthusiasm was still burning. -</p> -<p> -“Naethin' 'ill daunt the doctor—tae hear him dress the factor wes -michty; he hed his gold-headed stick wi' him, 'at wes his father's, an' -when he brocht it dune on the table at the end, the eyegless droppit oot -o' the waefu' body's 'ee, an' the very rings on his fingers jingled. -</p> -<p> -“The doctor bade me say 'at he hed pled yir case, but he wes feared he hed -dune ye mair ill than gude.” - </p> -<p> -“Be sure he hesna dune that, Drumsheugh; a' didna expeck that he cud -change the factor's mind, an' a'm no disappointed. -</p> -<p> -“But the doctor hes dune a gude wark this day he never thocht o', and that -will bring a blessing beyond mony leases; for as lang as this generation -lives an' their children aifter them, it will be remembered that the -parish minister, wi' his elder beside him, forgot thae things wherein we -differ, and stude by the Free Kirk in the 'oor o' her adversity.” - </p> -<h3> -II.—THE ENDLESS CHOICE -</h3> -<p> -It was known in the Glen that Burnbrae must choose on Monday between his -farm and his conscience, and the atmosphere in the Free Church on Sabbath -was such as might be felt. When he arrived that morning, with Jean and -their three sons—the fourth was in a Highland regiment on the Indian -frontier—the group that gathered at the outer gate opened to let -them pass, and the elders shook Burnbrae by the hand in serious silence; -and then, instead of waiting to discuss the prospects of the Sustentation -Fund with Netherton, Burnbrae went in with his family, and sat down in the -pew where they had worshipped God since the Disruption. -</p> -<p> -The cloud of the coming trial fell on the elders, and no man found his -voice for a space. Then Donald Menzies's face suddenly lightened, and he -lifted his head. -</p> -<p> -“'With persecutions' wass in the promise, and the rest it will be coming -sure.” - </p> -<p> -“You hef the word, Donald Menzies,” said Lachlan; and it came to this -handful of Scottish peasants that they had to make that choice that has -been offered unto every man since the world began. -</p> -<p> -Carmichael's predecessor was minister of the Free Church in those days, -who afterwards got University preferment—he wrote a book on the -Greek particles, much tasted in certain circles—and is still called -“the Professor” in a hushed voice by old people. He was so learned a -scholar that he would go out to visit without his hat, and so shy that he -could walk to Kildrummie with one of his people on the strength of two -observations, the first at Tochty bridge and the other at the crest of the -hill above the station. Lachlan himself did not presume at times to -understand his sermons, but the Free Church loved their scholar, for they -knew the piety and courage that dwelt in the man. -</p> -<p> -The manse housekeeper, who followed Cunningham with his hat and saw that -he took his food at more or less regular intervals, was at her wit's end -before that Sabbath. -</p> -<p> -“A 've hed chairge o' him,” she explained to the clachan, “since he wes a -laddie, an' he 's a fine bit craiturie ony wy ye tak' him. -</p> -<p> -“Ye juist hammer at his door in the morning till ye 're sure he's up, an' -bring him oot o' the study when denner's ready, an' watch he hesna a buke -hoddit aboot him—for he's tricky—an' come in on him every wee -whilie till ye think he's hed eneuch, an' tak' awa his lamp when it's time -for him tae gang tae bed, an' it's safer no tae lat him hae mair than a -can'le end, or he wud set tae readin' in his bed. Na, na, he's no ill tae -guide. -</p> -<p> -“But keep's a', he's been sae crouse this week that he's fair gae'n ower -me. He's been speakin' tae himsel' in the study, an' he 'll get up in the -middle o' his denner an' rin roond the gairden. -</p> -<p> -“Ye ken the minister hardly ever speaks gin ye dinna speak tae him, though -he's aye canty; bit this week if he didna stop in the middle o' his denner -an' lay aff a story aboot three hun-der lads that held a glen wi' their -swords till the laist o' them wes killed—a'm dootin' they were -Hielan' caterans—an' he yokit on the auld martyrs ae nicht tae sic -an extent that I wes near the greetin'. -</p> -<p> -“Ye wudna ken him thae times—he's twice his size, an' the langidge -poors frae him. A' tell ye Burnbrae's on his brain, and ye 'll hae a -sermon worth hearin' on Sabbath. Naebody kens the spirit 'at's in ma -laddie when he's roosed,” concluded Maysie, with the just pride of one who -had tended her scholar since childhood. -</p> -<p> -“What shall it profit a man,” was the text, and in all the sermon there -was not one abusive word, but the minister exalted those things that -endure for ever above those that perish in the using, with such spiritual -insight and wealth of illustration—there was a moral resonance in -his very voice which made men's nerves tingle—that Mrs. Macfadyen, -for once in her life, refused to look at heads, and Donald Menzies could -hardly contain himself till the last psalm. -</p> -<p> -It was the custom in the Free Kirk for the minister to retire first, -facing the whole congregation on his way to the vestry at the back of the -church, and Cunningham confided to a friend that he lost in weight during -the middle passage; but on this Sabbath he looked every man in the face, -and when he came to Burn-brae's pew the minister paused, and the two men -clasped hands. No word was spoken, not a person moved around, but the -people in front felt the thrill, and knew something had happened. -</p> -<p> -No one was inclined to speak about that sermon on the way home, and -Netherton gave himself with ostentation to the finger-and-toe disease -among the turnips. But the Free Kirk had no doubt what answer Burnbrae -would give the factor, and each man resolved within his heart that he -would do likewise in his time. -</p> -<p> -“It's michty,” was Jamie Soutar's comment, who had attended the Free Kirk -to show his sympathy, “what can be dune by speech. Gin there wes a -juitlin', twa-faced wratch in the kirk, yon sermon hes straichtened him -oot an' made a man o' him. -</p> -<p> -“Maister Cunningham 's no muckle tae look at an' he 's the quietest body -a' ever saw; but he's graund stuff every inch o' him, and hes the courage -o' a lion.” - </p> -<p> -Burnbrae and Jean walked home that Sabbath alone, and the past encompassed -their hearts. -</p> -<p> -The road they had walked since childhood, unchanged save for the gap where -the old beech fell in the great storm, and the growth of the slowly -maturing oaks; the burns that ran beneath the bridges with the same -gurgling sound while generations came and went; the fields that had gone -twelve times through the rotation of grass, oats, turnips, barley, grass -since they remembered; the farmhouses looking down upon the road with -familiar kindly faces—Gormack had a new window, and Claywhat another -room above the kitchen—awoke sleeping memories and appealed against -their leaving. -</p> -<p> -When they came below Woodhead, the two old people halted and looked up the -track where the hawthorn hedges, now bright with dog-roses, almost met, -and a cart had to force its way through the sweet-smelling greenery. It -was in Woodhead that Jean had been reared, and a brother was still living -there with her only sister. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mind the nicht, Jean, that ye cam doon the road wi' me and a' -askit ye tae be ma wife? it wes aboot this time.” - </p> -<p> -“It 'ill be forty-five year the mornin's nicht, John, and a' see the verra -place fra here. It wes at the turn o' the road, and there's a rosebush -yonder still. -</p> -<p> -“Ye pluckit me a rose afore we pairtit, an' a' hae the leaves o't in the -cover of ma Bible, an' the rose at oor gairden gate is a cuttin' that a' -took.” - </p> -<p> -The old school-house was not visible from the road, but on sight of the -path that turned upwards to its wood, Jean looked at Burnbrae with the -inextinguishable roguery of a woman in her eyes, and he understood. -</p> -<p> -“Aye, ye were a hempie o' a lassie, Jean, making faces at me as often as -a' lookit at ye, an' crying, 'Douce John Baxter.' till a' wes near the -greetin' on the wy hame.” - </p> -<p> -“But a' likit ye a' the time better than ony laddie in the schule; a' -think a' luved ye frae the beginnin', John.” - </p> -<p> -“Wes't luve gared ye dad ma ears wi' yir bukes at the corner, and shute me -in amang the whins? but ye'll hae forgotten that, wumman.” - </p> -<p> -“Fient a bit o' me; it wes the day ye took Meg Mitchell's pairt, when we -fell oot ower oor places in the class. A' didna mind her bein' abune me, -but a' cudna thole ye turnin' against me.” - </p> -<p> -“Hoo lang is that ago, Jean?” - </p> -<p> -“Sax and fifty year ago laist summer.” - </p> -<p> -The auld kirk stood on a bluff overlooking the Tochty, with the dead of -the Glen round it; and at the look on Jean's face, Burnbrae turned up the -kirk road along which every family went some day in sorrow. -</p> -<p> -The Baxters' ground lay in a corner, where the sun fell pleasantly through -the branches of a beech in the afternoon, and not far from the place where -afterwards we laid Dom-sie to rest. The gravestone was covered on both -sides with names, going back a century, and still unable to commemorate -all the Baxters that had lived and died after an honest fashion in -Drumtochty. The last name was that of a child: -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -Jean, the daughter of John Baxter, - -Farmer of Burnbrae, - -Aged 7 years. -</pre> -<p> -There was no “beloved” nor any text, but each spring the primroses came -out below, and all summer a bunch of pinks touched the “Jean” with their -fragrant blossoms. -</p> -<p> -Her mother stooped to pluck a weed from among the flowers and wipe the -letters of the name where the moss was gathering, then she bent her head -on the grey, worn stone, and cried, “Jeannie, Jeannie, ma bonnie lassie.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna greet, Jean, as though we hed nae lassie,” said Burnbrae, “for -there's naethin' here but the dust. Ye mind what the minister read that -day, 'He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His -bosom.' -</p> -<p> -“Be thankfu' we have the fower laddies spared, a' daein' weel, an' ane -near ready for a kirk, an' you an' me thegither still. We 've hed mony -mercies, Jean.” - </p> -<p> -“A 'm no denyin' that, John, an' a'm prood o' the laddies; but there 's -no' a day a' dinna miss ma lassie, an' a' can hear her sayin' 'mither' -still when ye 're a' in the fields and a'm alane.” - </p> -<p> -“Wae 's me, wha will care for her grave when we 're far awa an' no a -Baxter left in the Glen? It's no lichtsome to leave the hoose whar we 've -livit sae lang, an' the fields ye 've lookit at a' yir days, but it 's -sairest tae leave yir dead.” The past with the tender associations that -make a woman's life was tightening its hold on Jean, and when they looked -down on the Glen from the height of Burnbrae, her voice broke again: -</p> -<p> -“It's a bonnie sicht, John, an' kindly tae oor eyes; we 'ill never see -anither tae sateesfy oor auld age.” - </p> -<p> -“A've seen nae ither a' ma days,” said Burnbrae, “an' there can be nane -sae dear tae me noo in this warld; but it can be boucht ower dear, lass,” - and when she looked at him, “wi' oor souls, Jean, wi' oor souls.” - </p> -<p> -No Drumtochty man felt at ease on Sabbath, or spoke quite like himself at -home, till he had escaped from his blacks and had his tea. Then he -stretched himself with an air of negligence, and started on a survey of -his farm, which allowed of endless meditation, and lasted in summer time -unto the going down of the sun. It was a leisurely progress, in which time -was of no importance, from field to field and into every corner of each -field, and from beast to beast and round every beast to the completion of -as many circles as there were beasts. The rate was about one and a half -miles an hour, excluding halts, and the thumbs were never removed from the -armholes except for experimental observations. No one forgot that it was -Sabbath, and there were things no right-thinking man would do. Drumsheugh -might sample a head of oats in his hand, in sheer absence of mind, but he -would have been ashamed to lift a shaw of potatoes; and although Hillocks -usually settled the price he would ask for his fat cattle in the midst of -these reveries, he always felt their ribs on a Saturday. When the gudeman -came in, he had taken stock with considerable accuracy, but he was justly -horrified to find his wife asleep, with her head uncomfortably pillowed on -the open family Bible. -</p> -<p> -With the more religious men these Sabbath evening walks had in them less -of this world and more of that which is to come. Donald Menzies had seen -strange things in the fading light as he wandered among the cattle, and -this evening the years that were gone came back to Burnbrae. For a -townsman may be born in one city and educated in a second, and married in -a third, and work in a fourth. His houses are but inns, which he uses and -forgets; he has no roots, and is a vagrant on the face of the earth. But -the countryman is born and bred, and marries and toils and dies on one -farm, and the scene he looks at in his old age is the same he saw in his -boyhood. His roots are struck deep into the soil, and if you tear them up, -his heart withers and dies. When some townsman therefore reads of a -peasant being cast out of his little holding, he must not consider that it -is the same as a tenant going from one street to another, for it is not a -house this farmer leaves: it is his life. -</p> -<p> -Burnbrae passed through the kitchen on his way out, and an old chair by -the fireside made him a laddie again, gathered with the family on a winter -Sabbath evening, and he heard his father asking the “chief end of man.” - The first gate on the farm swung open at a touch, and he remembered this -was his father's idea, and he found the wedge that changed the elevation -of the hinge. That was a dyke he built in his youth, and there was the -stone he blasted out of the field, for the hole was still open. Down in -that meadow there used to be a pond where he was almost drowned nearly -seventy years ago, but he had drained it, and the corn upon the place was -growing rank. This was the little bridge he had mended for the homecoming -of his bride, and from that rock his old father had directed him with keen -interest, and in that clump of trees, alone before the Eternal, the great -event of his soul had come to pass. He had often thought that some day he -would be carried over that bridge, and trusted he was ready, but he hoped -he might be spared to see the Black Watch come home, and to hear his -youngest son preach in Drumtochty Free Kirk. The agony of leaving came -upon him, and Burnbrae turned aside among the trees. -</p> -<p> -He sought out Jean on his return, and found her in a little summer-house, -which he had made the first year of their marriage. As they sat together -in silence, each feeling for the other, Burnbrae's eyes fell on a patch of -annuals, and it seemed to him as if they made some letters. -</p> -<p> -Burnbrae looked at his wife. -</p> -<p> -“Is that oor lassie's name?” - </p> -<p> -“Aye, it is. A 've sown it mony a year, but this is the first summer a' -cud read it plain, and the last a 'll sow it in oor gairden; an' yon's the -apple tree we planted the year she wes born, an' the blossom never wes sae -bonnie as this year. -</p> -<p> -“Oh, John, a' ken we oucht tae dae what's richt, an' no deny oor -principles; but a' canna leave, a' canna leave. -</p> -<p> -“It 's no siller or plenishing a'm thinkin' aboot; it's the hoose ye -brocht me tae that day, an' the room ma bairns were born in, an' the -gairden she played in, an' whar a' think o' her in the gloamin'. -</p> -<p> -“It 's mair than a' can bear tae pairt wi' ma hame, an' the kirkyaird, an' -gang into a strange place where a' ken naebody and naebody kens us. It -'ill brak ma hert. -</p> -<p> -“Are ye fixed aboot this maitter, John?... there's no muckle difference -aifter a'.... Dr. Davidson's a fine man, an' a've herd ye praise him -yersel... if ye promised tae gang at a time, maybe....” And Jean touched -Burnbrae timidly with her hand. -</p> -<p> -“A' want tae dee here and be beeried wi' Jeannie.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna try me like this,” Burnbrae cried, with agony in his voice, “for -the cross is heavy eneuch already withoot the wecht o' yir plead-in'. -</p> -<p> -“Ye dinna see the nicht what ye are askin', for yir een are blind wi' -tears. If a' gied in tae ye and did what ye ask, ye wud be the sorriest o' -the twa, for nane hes a truer hert than ma ain' wife. -</p> -<p> -“If it wes onything else ye askit, ye wud hae it, Jean, though it cost me -a' my gear, but a' daurna deny my Lord, no even for yir dear sake.... He -died for us... an' this is a' He asks.... -</p> -<p> -“A' maun sae no tae the factor the mornin', an' if ye 're against me it -'ill be hard on flesh and blood.... Say yir wullin', an' a' fear nae evil, -Jean.” - </p> -<p> -“A'm tryin' hard, John,” and they spoke together with a low voice, while -the kindly darkness fell as a sacred cover round about them; and when they -came into the light of the kitchen, where the family was waiting, there -was victory on the face of Burnbrae and Jean his wife. -</p> -<p> -“Well, Baxter,” said the factor in his room next day, “your offer is all -right in money, and we 'ill soon settle the building. By the way, I -suppose you 've thought over that kirk affair, and will give your word to -attend the Established Church, eh?” - </p> -<p> -“Ye may be sure that a've gien a' ye said ma best judgment, an' there's -naething I wudna dae to be left in Burnbrae, but this thing ye ask a' -canna grant.” - </p> -<p> -“Why not?” and the factor, lounging in his chair, eyed Burnbrae -contemptuously as he stood erect before him. “My groom tells me that there -is not a grain of difference between all those kirks in Scotland, and that -the whole affair is just down-right bad temper, and I believe he 's -right.” - </p> -<p> -“A' wudna say onything disrespectfu', sir, but it's juist possible that -naither you nor your groom ken the history o' the Free Church; but ye may -be sure sensible men and puir fouk dinna mak sic sacrifices for bad -temper.” - </p> -<p> -“Come along, then,” and the factor allowed himself to be merry, “let's -hear a sermon. You Scotchmen are desperate fellows for that kind of thing. -Does the Free Kirk sing Psalms one way and the Established Kirk another? -It's some stark nonsense, I know.” - </p> -<p> -“It may be to you, but it is not to us; and at ony rate, it is the truth -accordin' tae ma licht, an' ilka man maun gae by that as he sall answer at -the Judgment.” - </p> -<p> -“Don't stand canting here. Do you mean to say that you will lose your -farm, and see your family at the door for a kirk? You can't be such a -drivelling fool; and a fellow of your age too! Yes or no?” - </p> -<p> -“A' hae nae choice, then, but tae say No; an' that's ma laist word.” - </p> -<p> -“Then you and the rest of your friends will march, d' you understand? You -may take this for notice at once—and I 'll get some tenants that -have respect for—ah—for—in fact, for law and order.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye may clear the Free Kirk fouk oot o' Drumtochty, an' get new tenants o' -some kind; but when ye hae filled the Glen wi' greedy time-servers his -lordship 'ill miss the men that coonted their conscience mair than their -fairms.” - </p> -<p> -“If you have quite finished, you may go,” said the factor; “leaving your -farm does not seem to touch you much.” - </p> -<p> -“Sir,” replied Burnbrae with great solemnity, “I pray God you may never -have such sorrow as you have sent on my house this day.” Jean was waiting -at the top of the brae for her man, and his face told her the event. -</p> -<p> -“Ye maunna be cast doon, Jean,” and his voice was very tender, “an' a' ken -weel ye 'ill no be angry wi' me.” - </p> -<p> -“Angry?” said Jean; “ma hert failed last nicht for a whilie, but that 's -ower noo an' for ever. John a' lu vit ye frae the time we sat in the -schule thegither, an' a' wes a happy wumman when ye mairried me. -</p> -<p> -“A 've been lifted mony a time when a' saw how fouk respeckit ye, and -abune a' when ye gaed doon the kirk with the cups in yir hands at the -Saicrament, for a' kent ye were worthy. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 're dearer tae me ilka year that comes and gaes, but a' never lu vit -ye as a' dae this nicht, an' a' coont sic a husband better than onything -God cud gie me on earth.” - </p> -<p> -And then Jean did what was a strange thing in Drumtochty—she flung -her arms round Burnbrae's neck and kissed him. -</p> -<h3> -III.—A DISPLENISHING SALE -</h3> -<p> -DRUMTOCHTY, hoeing the turnips for the second time on a glorious day in -early August, saw the Kildrummie auctioneer go up the left side of the -Glen and down the right like one charged with high affairs. It was -understood that Jock Constable could ride anything in the shape of a -horse, and that afternoon he had got ten miles an hour out of an animal -which had been down times without number, and whose roaring could be heard -from afar. Jock was in such haste that he only smacked his lips as he -passed our public-house, and waved his hand when Hillocks shouted, “Hoo's -a' wi' ye?” from a neighbouring field. But he dismounted whenever he saw a -shapely gate-post, and spent five minutes at the outer precincts of the -two churches. -</p> -<p> -“It 'ill be a roup,” and Hillocks nodded to his foreman with an air of -certitude; “a' wun-ner wha 's it is; some Kildrummie man, maist likely.” - </p> -<p> -When the advertising disease first broke out in the country, a Muirtown -grocer with local connections disfigured our main road with his list of -prices, till in a moment of incredible audacity he affixed a cheap tea -advertisement to the Parish Kirk door, and was understood to have escaped -penal servitude by offering an abject apology to Doctor Davidson, and -contributing ten pounds for the poor of the parish. Constable's -announcements were the only mural literature afterwards allowed in the -Glen, and Jock prided himself on their grandeur. They were headed in large -type “Displenishing Sale,” and those imposing words, which had never been -heard in the ordinary speech of the Glen within the memory of man, were -supported in the body of the document by “heifers,” “fat oxen,” “draught -horses,” “agricultural implements,” and “dairy apparatus.” Jock had -“cereals” in one bill, but yielded to public feeling, and returned to -“oats and barley” as a concession to the condition of a semieducated -people. -</p> -<p> -Persons, without imagination, used to carp at the grand style and demand -explanations, but short of “cereals,” Jock carried the community. -</p> -<p> -“What gars Jock aye say 'Displenishing Sale'?” inquired Hillocks one day, -after he had given ten minutes to a bill and done the more ambitious words -in syllables. “An' what dis he mean by 'heifer'? A' ken the beasts on -Milton as weel as ma ain, an' a' never heard tell o' 'heifer' ootside o' -the Bible.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're a doited (stupid) body, Hillocks,” said Jamie Soutar, who was -always much tickled by Jock's efforts; “ye wudna surely expeck an -unctioneer tae speak aboot roups, and div ye think yersel that quey soonds -as weel as heifer? Gin ye hed naething but oor ain words on a post, -naebody wud look twice at it, but this kind o' langidge solemnises ye an' -maks ye think.” - </p> -<p> -“Man Jamie, a' never thocht o' that,” for this argument touched Hillocks -closely, “an' a'm no sayin' but ye 're richt. Jock 's a gabby body an' no -feared o' words.” - </p> -<p> -Constable made a point of publishing on Saturday as late as light would -allow, so that his literature might burst upon the Glen on Sabbath morning -with all the charm of a surprise. Whether a man came east or west, he had -the benefit of three bills before he reached the kirk and settled down -quietly to the one on the right hand pillar of the kirkyard gate. Less -than this number of wayside editions would not have served the purpose, -because there was a severe etiquette in reading. When Whinnie emerged on -the main road and caught sight of “Displenishing Sale,” he would have been -ashamed to cross or show any indecent curiosity. He only nodded and -proceeded to settle the farm in his mind. The second bill, whose geography -he mastered without stopping, verified his conclusion and left him free to -run over in his mind the stock and crops that would be offered. A pause -not exceeding one minute was allowed for the head of the house at the -third bill to detect any gross mistake in his general review, but the -examination of minute details was reserved for the large paper edition at -the kirkyard. This was studied from the first word to the last in profound -silence, but was rigidly excluded from direct quotation on Sabbath. When -Whinnie joined the fathers he only referred to Milton's roup as a rumour -that had reached his ears, and might have been discussed at length on any -other day. -</p> -<p> -Drumsheugh, waking, as it were, from a reverie: -</p> -<p> -“A' wudna wunner gin the Milton roup did come aff sune... there's twa acre -mair neeps than a' expeckit.” - </p> -<p> -Then Hillocks would casually remark, as one forced into a distasteful -conversation, “The gude wife keeps ae coo, a' hear; she 'ill be taking a -pendicle at Kildrummie, a'm judg-in',” but any thorough treatment was -hindered by circumstances. -</p> -<p> -The kirkyard was only once carried beyond itself by Jock's bills, and that -was when he announced Burnbrae's sale. -</p> -<p> -“Keep's a', fouk, this is no lichtsome,” was all Whinnie could say as he -joined the group, and the boxes were passed round without speech. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, weel,” Hillocks said at last, in the tone consecrated to funerals, -“he 'ill be sair missed.” - </p> -<p> -It was felt to be an appropriate note, and the mouths of the fathers were -opened. -</p> -<p> -“A graund fairmer,” continued Hillocks, encouraged by the sympathetic -atmosphere; “he kent the verra day tae sow, an' ye cudna find a thistle on -Burnbrae, no, nor a docken. Gin we a' keepit oor land as clean it wud set -us better,” and Hillocks spoke with the solemnity of one pointing the -moral of a good man's life. -</p> -<p> -“He hed a fine hert tae,” added Whinnie, feeling that Hillocks's eulogy -admitted of expansion; “he cam up laist summer when George wes lying in -the decline, and he says tae me, 'Whinnie, yir pasture is fair burnt up; -pit yir coos in ma second cutting: George maun hae gude milk,' an' they -fed a' the summer in Burnbrae's clover. He didna like sic things -mentioned, but it disna maitter noo. Marget wes awfu' touched.” - </p> -<p> -“But ye cudna ca' Burnbrae a shairp business man,” said Jamie Soutar -critically; “he keepit Jess Stewart daein' naethin' for five year, and -gared her believe she wes that usefu' he cudna want her, because Jess wud -suner hae deed than gaen on the pairish. -</p> -<p> -“As for puir fouk, he wes clean redeeklus; there wesna a weedow in the -Glen didna get her seed frae him in a bad year. He hed abeelity in -gaitherin', but he wes wastefu' in spendin'. -</p> -<p> -“Hooever, he 's gone noo, an' we maunna be sayin' ill o' the dead; it's no -what he wud hae dune himsel. Whatna day's the beerial?” inquired Jamie, -anxiously. -</p> -<p> -“Beerial? Losh preserve's, Jamie,” began Hillocks, but Drumsheugh -understood. -</p> -<p> -“Jamie hes the richt o't; if Burnbrae hed slippit awa, yir faces cudna be -langer. He's no oot o' the Glen yet, and wha kens gin he mayna beat the -factor yet? -</p> -<p> -“It's no muckle we can dae in that quarter but there's ae thing in oor -poor. We can see that Burnbrae hes a gude roup, an' gin he maun leave us -that he cairries eneuch tae keep him an' the gude wife for the rest o' -their days. -</p> -<p> -“There's a wheen fine fat cattle and some gude young horse; it wud be a -sin tae let them gae below their price tae the Muirtown dealers. Na, na, -the man that wants tae buy at Burn-brae's roup 'ill need tae pay.” - </p> -<p> -The countenance of the kirkyard lifted, and as Hillocks followed -Drumsheugh into kirk, he stopped twice and wagged his head with marked -satisfaction. Three days later it was understood at the “smiddy” that -Burnbrae's roup was likely to be a success. -</p> -<p> -Thursday was the chosen day for roups in our parts, and on Monday morning -they began to make ready at Burnbrae. Carts, engrained with the mud of -years, were taken down to the burn, and came back blue and red. Burnbrae -read the name of his grandfather on one of the shafts, and noticed it was -Burnebrae in those days. Ploughs, harrows, rollers were grouped round a -turnip sowing machine (much lent to neighbours), and supported by an array -of forks, graips, scythes, and other lighter implements. The granary -yielded a pair of fanners, half a dozen riddles, measures for corn, a pile -of sacks, and some ancient flails. Harness was polished till the brass -ornaments on the peaked collars and heavy cart saddles emerged from -obscurity, and shone in the sunshine. Jean emptied her dairy, and ranged -two churns, one her mother s, a cheese-press, and twenty-four deep -earthenware dishes at the head of a field where the roup was to take -place. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna bring oot yir dairy, Jean wumman,” Burnbrae had pleaded in great -distress; “we 'ill get some bit placey wi' a field or twa, and ye 'ill hae -a coo as lang as ye live. A' canna bear tae see ma wife's kirn sold; ye -mind hoo a' tried tae help ye the first year, an' ye splashed me wi' the -milk. Keep the auld kirn, lass.” - </p> -<p> -“Na, na, John, it wud juist fret me tae see it wi' nae milk tae fill it, -for it's no an ae-coo-kirn mine like a pendicler's (small farmer's), an' -a' wud raither no look back aifter we 've awa',” but Jean's hands were -shaking as she laid down the wooden stamp with which she had marked the -best butter that went to Muirtown market that generation. -</p> -<p> -On Thursday forenoon the live-stock was gathered and penned in the field -below the garden, where the dead lassie's name bloomed in fragrant -mignonette. Burnbrae and Jean saw all their gear, save the household -furniture, set out for sale. She had resolved to be brave for his sake, -but every object in the field made its own appeal to her heart. What one -read in the auctioneer's catalogue was a bare list of animals and -implements, the scanty plenishing of a Highland farm. Jean saw everything -in a golden mist of love. It was a perfectly preposterous old dogcart that -ought to have been broken up long ago, but how often she had gone in it to -Muirtown on market days with John, and on the last journey he had wrapped -her up as tenderly as when she was a young bride. The set of silver-plated -harness—but there was not much plating left—Jean had bought -from a Muirtown saddler with savings from her butter money, and had seen -the ostler fit on the old mare—her foal, old enough himself now, was -to be sold to-day—against John's coming from the cattle mart. He was -so dazzled by the sheen of the silver that he passed his own conveyance in -the stable yard—he never heard the end of that—and he could -only shake his fist at her when she came from her hiding-place, professing -great astonishment. John might laugh at her, but she saw the people -admiring the turnout as they drove along the street in Muirtown, and, -though it took them three hours to reach Burnbrae, the time was too short -for the appreciation of that harness. It seemed yesterday, but that was -seven-and-twenty year ago. -</p> -<p> -“Come intae the hoose, Jean,” said Burnbrae, taking her by the arm; “it 's -ower tryin' for ye; we maun hae oor half oor afore the roup begins.” - </p> -<p> -Burnbrae and Jean never said a word about such secret things, and indeed -there was not in them a trace of Pharisee, but their children and the -serving folk knew why the old people always disappeared after the midday -meal. -</p> -<p> -“It's a black shame,” said Bell to her neighbour as they cut up cheese for -the roup, “tae cast sic a gude man oot o' his hame; deil tak' them that -dae 't.” - </p> -<p> -“Be quiet, wumman, or the maister 'ill hear ye; but ye 're richt aboot -whar they 'ill gang for meddling wi' the elder”—for they had not -learned the Shorter Catechism, without profit, in Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -When Brunbrae went out again, Jock Constable had arrived, and an old mare -was being run up and down the field at such speed as a limp allowed. -</p> -<p> -“Keep her rinnin', laddie,” Jock was shouting from the middle of the fat -cattle; “she 'ill be as soople as a three-year-auld afore the fouk come.” - </p> -<p> -“What's this ye 're aifter wi' the mare, Jock?” - </p> -<p> -“Doctoring her stiffness, Burnbrae; it wears aff as sune as she gets warm, -and the fouk micht as weel see her at her best. -</p> -<p> -“It 'ill pit a five-pund note on her,” continued Jock, “an' a'm no tae gie -a warranty wi' onything the day. -</p> -<p> -“Man, hoo did ye no get the wricht tae gie those cairts a lick o' pent? -They did it at Pit-foodles, and there wes an auld corn cairt went aff for -new.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye may dae what ye like at Pit foodies, but ye 'll play nae tricks here, -Jock,” and Burnbrae's eye had a dangerous gleam; “gin ye dinna tell the -fouk that the mare hes a titch o' 'grease' on her aff hind-leg, a 'll dae -it masel.” - </p> -<p> -Jock was much dashed, for he had intended some other legitimate -improvements, and he carried his wrongs to Drumsheugh. -</p> -<p> -“There's sic a thing as bein' ower gude, an' a' dinna see ony use in -startin' this roup; he micht as weel fling awa' his gear tae the first -bidder. Wull ye believe it,” said Jock, in bitterness of soul, “that he -hesna providit a drop o' speerits, an' is gaein' tae offer the fouk tea -an' lime-juice—lime-juice,” and Jock dwelt on the word with scathing -scorn. -</p> -<p> -Did ye ever hear o' a roup comin' aff on sic like drink? It's fifteen year -sin a' took tae the unctioneerin' trade, an' a' tell ye nae man 'ill gie a -bid worth mentionin' till he 's hed his tastin', an' there's nae spunk -afore the third gless. -</p> -<p> -“Noo there wes Pitfoodles roup,” exclaimed Jock, harking back to -high-water mark; “if a' didna send roond the glesses sax times, an' afore -a' wes ower Lochlands bocht a geizened (leaky) water-cairt withoot wheels -for aucht pund twal shillings, an' it's lying at Pitfoodles till this day. -Ye'ill no see a roup like that twice in a generation. Lime-juice—it's -a clean temptin' o' Providence.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye needna get in a feery-farry (commotion), Jock,” said Drumsheugh, -eyeing the little man severely; “the 'ill be nae call for speerits the -day. A'm no a jidge o' lime-juice masel, but it 'ill dae as weel as -onything else, or water itsel for that maitter. -</p> -<p> -“Pitfoodles! Man, it 'ill no be mentioned wi' the prices ye 'ill get at -Burnbrae, or a' dinna ken Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -“Div ye mean that Drumtochty's gaein' tae stand in?” said Jock, much -cheered. -</p> -<p> -“A' mean what a' say, an' the suner ye begin the better. Ye 'ill be takin' -the potatoes first,” and the gait of Drumsheugh as he moved off was that -of a general on the morning of battle. -</p> -<p> -The dealers from Muirtown and outlying strangers from Kildrummie bore -themselves after the time-honoured manners of a roup—a fine blend of -jocose gaiety and business curiosity; but the Glen and stragglers from the -upper districts were not in a roup mood, and seemed to have something on -their minds. They greeted Burnbrae respectfully, and took a spare -refreshment with marked solemnity. Their very faces chilled Jock when he -began operations, and reduced to hopeless confusion an opening joke he had -prepared on the way from Kildrummie. This severity was hard on Jock, for -he was understood to have found his rôle in auctioneering, and a roup was -the great day of his life. He was marked out for his office by the fact -that he had been twice bankrupt as a farmer, and by a gift of speech which -bordered on the miraculous. There were times when he was so carried on -political questions in the Muirtown Inn that the meat flew from the end of -his fork, and a Drumtochty man, with an understood reference to Jock's -eloquence, could only say “Sall” at the Junction, to which another would -reply, “He 's an awfu' wratch.” This tribute to Jock's power rested, as is -evident, less on the exact terms of the eulogy than on his monopoly of the -Drumtochty imagination for two hours. His adroitness in throwing strong -points into relief and infirmities into the shade, as well as his accurate -knowledge of every man's farming affairs and his insight into their -peculiarities as buyers, were almost Satanic. People who did not intend to -buy, and would have received no credit if they had, went to hear Jock -selling a horse, and left fully rewarded. Indeed, if Whinnie suddenly -chuckled on the way home, and did not proceed farther than “It cowes a',” - he was understood to be chewing the cud of Jock's humour, and was excused -from impossible explanations. -</p> -<p> -Jock referred to the Burnbrae roup as long as he lived, and gave incidents -with dramatic force in the train, but every one knows he had nothing to do -with its success. -</p> -<p> -“Ye needna waste time speaking the day, Jock,” Drumsheugh advised before -they began on the potatoes; “pit up the articles, and we 'ill see tae the -bids.” Which Drumtochty did without one slack moment, from the potatoes, -which fetched one pound an acre more than had been known in the parish, to -a lot of old iron which a Kildrummie blacksmith got at something under -cost price. People hesitated to award praise where all had done well, but -the obstinacy of Hillocks, which compelled a Muirtown horse-dealer to give -forty-two pounds for a young horse, and Whinnie's part in raising the -prices for fat cattle, are still mentioned. When Jock came down from his -table in the field, he was beyond speech, and Drumtochty regarded -Drumsheugh with unfeigned admiration. -</p> -<p> -“Gude nicht tae ye, Burnbrae,” said that great man, departing; “if ye hae -tae gang it 'ill no be empty-handed,” and although Burnbrae did not -understand all, he knew that his neighbours had stood by him without stint -that day. -</p> -<p> -For an hour the buyers were busy conveying away their goods, till at last -the farm had been stripped of all the animal life that had made it glad, -and those familiar articles that were each a link with the past. Burnbrae -wandered through the staring sheds, the silent stable, the empty granary, -and then he bethought him of his wife. When her kirn was put up he had -been moved by a sudden emotion and bought it back, and he saw her face for -an instant between the bushes of the garden. Where was Jean? He sought her -in the house, in the garden, and could not find her. Then he heard the -rattle of a chain in one of the byres, and understood. Jean's favourite -cow had been kept, and she was sitting in the stall with her, as one left -desolate. When Burnbrae entered, Brownie turned her head and looked at him -with an intelligent understanding in her soft, motherly eyes. -</p> -<p> -“She's a' that's left o'ma byre,” and Jean burst into a passion of -weeping. “Ye mind hoo they deed in the rinder-pest ane by ane, and were -buried; juist Brownie cam through, and noo she's alane again. -</p> -<p> -“That wes the judgment o' the Almichty, and we daurna complain, but this -wes the doin' o' man, an' ma hert is bitter. -</p> -<p> -“A' the beasts a' reared, an' the gear we githered, a' sold and carried -off, till there's nae soond heard in the hooses, nae wark tae dae.” - </p> -<p> -Burnbrae sat down and flung his arm round her, and as the two old heads -were bent together, the gentle animal beside them missed her companions -and moaned. -</p> -<p> -After a while Burnbrae began: -</p> -<p> -“It 's a shairp trial, wife, an' hard tae bear. But dinna forget oor -mercies. We hae oor fower laddies left us, an' a' daein' weel. -</p> -<p> -“We oucht tae be thankfu' that Sandie 's been kept in the battle. Think o' -yir son win-nin' the Victoria Cross, wumman, an' ye 'ill see it on his -breist. -</p> -<p> -“An' oor lassie's safe, Jean... in the Auld Hame, an'... we 'ill sune be -gaein' oorsels an'... the 'ill be nae pairtin' there. -</p> -<p> -“Ye hae me, Jean, an' a' hae ma ain gude wife, an' luve is mair than a' -the things a man can see wi' his een or haud in his hands. Sae dinna be -cast doon, lass, for nae hand can touch oor treasures or tak awa' oor -luve.” - </p> -<p> -When Jean was comforted, Burnbrae gathered his household together in the -kitchen, and he chose the portion from the tenth chapter of St. Matthew's -Gospel: -</p> -<p> -“Whosoever therefore shall confess Me before men, him will I confess also -before my Father which is in heaven.” - </p> -<p> -As Burnbrae read the last words he lifted up his head, and it seemed even -unto the serving girls as if he had received a crown. -</p> -<p> -They had the right to occupy their old home till Martinmas, but Jean had -begun to fret, wandering through the empty “houses” and brooding over the -coming trial. -</p> -<p> -“A' canna help it, John; the Almichty made a woman different from a man, -an' the 'ill be nae peace for me till we be oot o' Burnbrae. -</p> -<p> -“Ma wark here's feenished, an' it's no like hame ony mair. A' wish the -flittin' were ower an' you an' me were settled whar we 'ill end oor days.” - </p> -<p> -Burnbrae had found a little place near Kildrummie that would leave him -within reach of his kirk, which he had loved at a great cost, and his old -neighbours, to whom he was knit with new ties. -</p> -<p> -“The Word can come onywhere tae the hert, an' the angel o' His Presence -'ill aye be wi' us, Jean, but there's nae place whar the Evangel 'ill ever -soond sae sweet as in the Free Kirk o' Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -“We 'ill traivel up as lang as we 're able, and see oor friends aince a -week. It 'ill dae us gude, wumman, tae get a handshak frae Netherton and -Donald Menzies, an' Lachlan himsel, though he be a stiff chiel” (for this -was before the transformation). -</p> -<p> -“Forbye the Auld Kirk folk, for a' dinna deny, Jean, aifter a' that's -happened, that it 'ill be pleasant tae meet them comin' wast, wi' -Drumsheugh at their head. -</p> -<p> -“Ma hert's warm tae a' body in the Glen, and a'ken they'ill no forget us, -Jean, in oor bit hoosie at Kildrummie.” - </p> -<p> -One Thursday afternoon—the flitting was to be on Monday—Burnbrae -came upon Jean in the garden, digging up plants and packing them tenderly -with wide margins of their native earth. -</p> -<p> -“A' cudna leave them, John, an' they 'ill mak oor new gairden mair -hame-like. The pinks are cuttin's a' set masel, an' the fuchsias tae, an' -Jeannie carried the can and watered them that simmer afore she deed. -</p> -<p> -“When Peter Robertson wes warnin' us no tae meddle wi' ony fixture for -fear o' the factor, a' askit him aboot the floors, an' he said, 'Gin a' -hed plantit them masel, they micht be lifted.' Gude kens a' did, every -ane, though it 's no mony we can tak; but preserve's, wha's yon?” - </p> -<p> -It was not needful to ask, for indeed only one man in the parish could -walk with such grave and stately dignity, and that because his father and -grandfather had been parish ministers before him. -</p> -<p> -“This is rael neeburly, Doctor, an' like yer-sel tae come up afore we left -the auld place. Ye 're welcome at Burnbrae as yir father wes in ma -father's day. Ye heard that we 're flittin' on Monday?” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're not away yet, Burnbrae, you're not away yet; it's not so easy to -turn out a Drumtochty man as our English factor thought: we 're a stiff -folk, and our roots grip fast. -</p> -<p> -“He was to rule this parish, and he was to do as he pleased with honest -men; we 'll see who comes off best before the day is done,” and the Doctor -struck his stick, the stick of office with the golden head, on the gravel -in triumph. -</p> -<p> -“You v'e just come in time, Mrs. Baxter”—for Jean had been putting -herself in order—“for I want to give you a bit of advice. Do not -lift any more of your plants—it 's bad for their growth; and I -rather think you 'll have to put them back.” - </p> -<p> -Jean came close to Burnbrae's side, and watched the Doctor without -breathing while he placed the stick against a bush, and put on his -eye-glasses with deliberation, and opened out a telegram and read aloud: -“'Paris. Your letter found me at last; leave London for home Thursday -morning; tell Burnbrae to meet me in Muirtown on Friday. Kilspindie.' -</p> -<p> -“My letter went to Egypt and missed him, but better late than never, -Burnbrae... that's a wonderful plant you have there, Mrs. Baxter,” and he -turned aside to study a hydrangea Jean had set out in the sun; for with -all his pompous and autocratic ways, the Doctor was a gentleman of the old -school. -</p> -<p> -When he departed and Jean had settled down, Burnbrae thought it wise to -moderate her joy lest it should end in bitter disappointment. -</p> -<p> -“The Doctor hes dune his pairt, and it wes kind o' him tae come up himsel -ane's errand tae tell us. Ye didna see his face aifter he read the -message, but it wes worth seein'. There 's no a soonder hert in the Glen. -</p> -<p> -“A' kent this thing wudna hae happened gin his Lordship hed been at hame, -an' a 'm thinkin he wud dae his best tae repair it. -</p> -<p> -“Maybe he'ill gie's the first chance o' a vacant fairm, but a' doot we -maun leave Burn-brae; they say 'at it 's as gude as let tae a Netheraird -man.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna say that, John, for it's no anither fairm, it's Burnbrae a' want. A -'ll be watchin' the mornin's evening when ye come up the road, an' a 'll -see ye turnin' the corner. Ye 'll wave yir airm tae me gin a' be richt, -an' Jean-nie's floors 'ill be back in their beds afore ye be hame.” - </p> -<p> -When Burnbrae appeared at Kildrummie station next morning, Drumtochty, who -happened to be there in force on their last Muirtown visit before harvest, -compassed him with observances, putting him in the corner seat, and -emphasising his territorial designation. -</p> -<p> -“That wes michty news aboot the Sergeant, Burnbrae,” began Jamie Soutar; -“it spiled a nicht's sleep tae me readin' hoo he stude ower the Colonel -and keepit the Afghans at bay till the regiment rallied. Wes 't four or -sax he focht single-handed?” - </p> -<p> -“He barely mentioned the maitter in his letters, but his captain wrote tae -the gude wife, which wes rael thochtfu'; he made it sax, an' he said the -regiment wes prood o' Sandie.” For an instant Burnbrae drew himself up in -his corner, and then he added, “But it's no for his father tae be speakin' -this wy. Sandie did naethin' but his duty.” - </p> -<p> -“For doonricht leein',” said Jamie meditatively, “a' never kent the marra -(equal) o' thae London papers; they made oot that Sandie wes a hero, and -we cleaned the Muirtown book-stall lest Friday a week. A' never saw the -Kildrummie train in sic speerits; it's awfu' hoo country fouk are -deceived.” - </p> -<p> -“Piggie Walker cam up on Monday” (Hillocks seemed to be addressing some -person above Burnbrae's head), “and he wes tellin' me they hed a -by-ordinar' sermon frae the student. 'A wished Burnbrae hed been there,' -Piggie said; 'he wes boond tae be lifted. He 'ill sune hae a kirk, yon -lad, an' a gude ane.' Piggie's a body, but he's coonted the best jidge o' -sermons in Kildrummie.” - </p> -<p> -Drumsheugh alone did not join in those kindly efforts, but struck out a -manner of his own, chuckling twice without relevancy, and once growing so -red that Hillocks ran over his family history to estimate the risk of a -“seizure.” - </p> -<p> -“Is that you, Burnbrae? Come in, man; come in. It's a pleasure to see a -Drumtochty face again after those foreign fellows,” and Lord Kilspindie -gripped his tenant's hand in the factor's office. “Sit down and give me -all your news. -</p> -<p> -“Th 'ill be no speaking to Mrs. Baxter now after this exploit of the -Sergeant's! When I read it on my way home I was as proud as if he had been -my own son. It was a gallant deed, and well deserves the Cross. He 'ill be -getting his commission some day. Lieutenant Baxter! That 'ill stir the -Glen, eh? -</p> -<p> -“But what is this I hear of your leaving Burnbrae? I don't like losing old -tenants, and I thought you would be the last to flit.” - </p> -<p> -“Did the factor not tell you, my Lord——” - </p> -<p> -“I 've only seen him for five minutes, and he said it had nothing to do -with rent; it was some religious notion or other. Is that so?” - </p> -<p> -“The fairm is worth thirty pund mair rent, an' a' wud hae paid saxty -rather than leave my auld hame; but the factor made it a condeetion tae -gie up ma kirk.” - </p> -<p> -“Well, Burnbrae, I never thought you would have left me for a matter of -kirks. Could you not have stretched a point for auld lang syne?” and -Kilspindie looked hard at the old man. -</p> -<p> -“Ma Lord, there's naething a' wudna hae dune to stay in Burnbrae but this -ae thing. Ye hae been a gude landlord tae me as the auld Earl wes tae ma -father, an' it 'ill never be the same tae me again on anither estate; but -ye maunna ask me tae gang back on ma conscience.” - </p> -<p> -The tears came to Burnbrae's eyes, and he rose to his feet. -</p> -<p> -“A' thocht,” he said, “when yir message cam, that maybe ye hed anither -mind than yir factor, and wud send me back tae Jean wi' guid news in ma -mooth. -</p> -<p> -“Gin it be yir wull that we flit, a 'll mak nae mair complaint, an' -there's nae bitterness in ma hert. But a' wud like ye tae ken that it 'ill -be a sair pairtin'. -</p> -<p> -“For twa hundred years an' mair there's been a Baxter at Burnbrae and a -Hay at Kilspindie; ane wes juist a workin' farmer, an' the ither a belted -earl, but gude freends an' faithfu', an' ma Lord, Burnbrae wes as dear tae -oor fouk as the castle wes tae yours. -</p> -<p> -“A' mind that day the Viscount cam o' age, an' we gaithered tae wush him -weel, that a' saw the pictures o' the auld Hays on yir walls, an' thocht -hoo mony were the ties that bund ye tae yir hame. -</p> -<p> -“We haena pictures nor gouden treasures, but there's an' auld chair at oor -fireside, an' a' saw ma grandfather in it when a' wes a laddie at the -schule, an' a' mind him tellin' me that his grandfather hed sat in it lang -afore. It's no worth muckle, an' it's been often mended, but a 'll no like -tae see it carried oot frae Burnbrae. -</p> -<p> -“There is a Bible, tae, that hes come doon, father tae son, frae 1690, and -ilka Baxter hes written his name in it, an' 'farmer at Burnbrae,' but it -'ill no be dune again, for oor race 'ill be awa frae Burnbrae for ever. -</p> -<p> -“Be patient wi' me, ma Lord, for it's the lest time we 're like tae meet, -an' there's anither thing a' want tae say, for it's heavy on ma hert. -</p> -<p> -“When the factor told me within this verra room that we maun leave, he -spoke o' me as if a' hed been a lawless man, an' it cut me mair than ony -ither word. -</p> -<p> -“Ma Lord, it's no the men that fear their God that 'ill brak the laws, an' -a ken nae Baxter that wes ither than a loyal man tae his King and country. -</p> -<p> -“Ma uncle chairged wi' the Scots Greys at Waterloo, and a' mind him -tellin', when a' wes a wee laddie, hoo the Hielanders cried oot, -</p> -<p> -'<i>Scotland for ever</i>,' as they passed. -</p> -<p> -“I needna tell ye aboot ma brither, for he wes killed by yir side afore -Sebastopol, and the letter ye send tae Burnbrae is keepit in that Bible -for a heritage. -</p> -<p> -“A 'll mention naethin' aither o' ma ain laddie, for ye've said mair than -wud be richt for me, but we coont it hard that when oor laddie hes shed -his blude like an honest man for his Queen, his auld father and mither sud -be driven frae the hame their forbears hed for seeven generations.” - </p> -<p> -Lord Kilspindie rose to his feet at the mention of Sebastopol, and now -went over to the window as one who wished to hide his face. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna be angry with me, ma Lord, nor think a'm boastin', but a' cudna -thole that ye sud think me a lawbreaker, wha cared naither for kirk nor -commonweal,” and still his Lordship did not move. -</p> -<p> -“It gaes tae ma hert that we sud pairt in anger, an' if a 've said mair -than a' oucht, it wes in sorrow, for a'll never forget hoo lang ma fouk -hae lived on yir land, and hoo gude ye hae been tae me,” and Burnbrae -turned to the door. -</p> -<p> -“You 're the dullest man in all Drumtochty,” cried Kilspindie, wheeling -round—one might have fancied—but that is absurd—“and the -truest. Did you think that a Hay would let a Baxter go for all the kirks -that ever were built? You supposed that I wanted you to play the knave for -your farm, and this was the news you were to carry home to Jean; it's too -bad of you, Burnbrae.” - </p> -<p> -“Ma Lord, a'... ye ken—” - </p> -<p> -“It's all right, and I'm only joking; and the play was carried on a bit -too long for both of us, but I wanted to hear your own mind upon this -matter,” and Kilspindie called for the factor. -</p> -<p> -“Is the Burnbrae lease drawn up?” - </p> -<p> -“It is, at an advance of sixty pounds, and I've got a man who will sign -it, and says he will give no trouble about kirks; in fact, he 'll just -do... ah... well, whatever we tell him.” - </p> -<p> -“Quite so; most satisfactory sort of man. Then you 'll reduce the rent to -the old figure, and put in the name of John Baxter, and let it be for the -longest period we ever give on the estate.” - </p> -<p> -“But, Lord Kilspindie... I... did you know—” - </p> -<p> -“Do as I command you without another word,” and his Lordship was fearful -to behold. “Bring the lease here in ten minutes, and place it in Mr. -Baxter's hands. What I've got to say to you will keep till afterwards. -</p> -<p> -“Sit down, old friend, sit down;... it was my blame.... I ought to be -horse-whipped.... Drink a little water. You 're better now.... I 'll go -and see that fellow has no tricks in the conditions.” But he heard -Burnbrae say one word to himself, and it was “Jean.” - </p> -<p> -“There are mony things a' wud like tae say, ma Lord,” said Burnbrae before -he left, “but a full hert maks few words. Gin lifting a dark cloud aff the -life o' a family an' fillin' twa auld fouk wi' joy 'ill gie ony man peace, -ye 'ill sleep soond this nicht in yir castle. -</p> -<p> -“When ye pass below Burnbrae on yir way to the Lodge and see the smoke -curlin' up through the trees, ye 'ill ken a family's livin' there that -bless yir name, and will mention it in their prayers.” - </p> -<p> -The first man Burnbrae met when he came out with the lease in his pocket -was Drumsheugh, whose business that particular day had kept him wandering -up and down the street for nearly an hour. -</p> -<p> -“Keep's a', Burnbrae, is that you? a' thocht ye were dune wi' that office -noo. It's a puir market the day; the dealers are getting the fat cattle -for naethin'.” But Drumsheugh's manner had lost its calm finish. -</p> -<p> -“A've something tae tell,” said Burnbrae, “an' ye sud be the first tae -hear it. Lord Kilspindie's hame again, and hes settled me and mine in the -auld place for a tack that 'ill laist ma days and descend tae ma son -aifter me. -</p> -<p> -“This hes been a shairp trial, and there were times a' wes feared ma faith -micht fail; but it's ower noo, and there's twa men Jean an' me 'ill -remember wi' gratitude till we dee; ane is Doctor Davidson an' the ither -is yersel. Ye brocht us through at ween ye.” - </p> -<p> -“Come awa this meenut tae the 'Kilspindie Airms.'” and Drumsheugh seized -Burnbrae; “a' ken ye wunna taste, but a 'll dae it for ye; and ye 'ill -eat, at ony rate,” and Drumsheugh, who was supposed to dine in secret -places at not more than a shilling, ordered a dinner fit for Lord -Kilspindie. He did his best to get full value for his money, but before -and after, and between the courses, he let himself go at large. -</p> -<p> -“Ane and twenty year at a hundred and auchty pund; man, ye 'ill have -eneuch tae stock a fairm for Jamie and furnish the student's manse. -</p> -<p> -“His Lordship wes lang o' comin' hame, but, ma certes, he's pit things -richt when he did come. It's naethin' short o' handsome, an' worthy o' the -Earl. -</p> -<p> -“Me,” resumed Drumsheugh, “a' hed nae-thin' tae dae wi't; it wes the -Doctor's letter 'at did the business; here's tae his health; is yir soda -water dune yet? -</p> -<p> -“The factor tried tae mak licht o' him that day, an' spak as if he wes -abune a' body in Drumtochty; he threatened the minister tae his face; a' -herd him, the upsettin', ill-mannered wratch. -</p> -<p> -“'Dinna be cast doon,' says the Doctor tae me ootside; 'ye hevna seen the -end o' this game.' The man disna live 'at can beat the Doctor when his -birse is up, an' a' never saw him sae roosed afore! -</p> -<p> -“Whar's the factor noo?” burst out Drumsheugh afresh. “Man, a' wud hae -liked tae see him when he brocht in the lease. 'I wes here before ye, and -I will be here aifter ye,' said the Doctor. It 'ill come true; a' gie the -factor a month, no anither week. -</p> -<p> -“It's wersh drink ye hae, but dinna spare it. This is no an ordinar' day. -A' wish we were at the Junction.” - </p> -<p> -Drumsheugh restrained himself till the Dunleith train had fairly gone—for -he knew better than to anticipate an occasion—and then he gathered -Drumtochty round him. -</p> -<p> -“Ye herd that the factor ordered Burnbrae tae leave his kirk, weel, it -'ill be a while or he meddle wi' anither man: an' Burnbrae wes tae be -turned oot o' his fairm, it's the factor, a'm judgin', an' no Burnbrae, -'at 'ill need tae seek a hame; an' the factor wudna gie a lease for -fifteen year, he's hed tae mak it oot for ane and twenty; an' he wudna tak -a rack rent o' saxty pund increase tae let Burnbrae bide in his hoose, an' -his Lordship 'ill no tak a penny mair than the auld rent. That's ma news, -fouk, an' it's the best a've herd for mony a day.” - </p> -<p> -Then they all shook hands with Burnbrae, from Netherton to Peter Bruce, -and they called in an outer fringe of Kildrummie to rejoice with them; but -Burnbrae could only say: -</p> -<p> -“Thank ye, freends, frae ma hert; ye've been gude neeburs tae me and -mine.” - </p> -<p> -“It's been a michty victory,” said Jamie Soutar, as they moved to the -third, “but a' can see drawbacks.” - </p> -<p> -“Ay, ay,” which was a form of inquiry with Hillocks. -</p> -<p> -“Naebody 'ill be able tae tell a lee or play a Judas trick in Drumtochty -for the space of a generation.” - </p> -<h3> -V.—THE REPLENISHING OF BURNBRAE -</h3> -<p> -When Hillocks arrived at the kirkyard on the Sabbath after Caesar's -judgment, he found Jamie Soutar removing the last trace of Burn-brae's -Displenishing Sale from the pillars of the gate. -</p> -<p> -It was the fragment with “John Baxter, outgoing tenant,” and Jamie was -careful to preserve it entire. -</p> -<p> -“It 'ill be a relic,” he explained afterwards to the fathers, who were -tasting the occasion in a pregnant silence, “like a Russian gun frae Alma. -We 'ill no see anither fecht like it in oor day. -</p> -<p> -“Jock wes a wee hasty wi' his 'out-going,' but ye cudna expect a -Kildrummie man tae ken ony better. He's gotten the gift o' the gab maist -awfu', but an unctioneer sudna tak tae propheceein'; it's no cannie. -</p> -<p> -“But we maunna blame Jock, for there wes a story fleein' aboot that the -factor hed got a new fairmer for Burnbrae; he 'ill be the in-comin' -tenant, a'm judgin'; he 'ill be comin' in as the factor gaes oot. -</p> -<p> -“Speakin' aboot that, hae ye herd the new factor's name? they were keepin' -it quiet on Friday,” and Jamie looked round with much interest. -</p> -<p> -“Ye've a tongue, Jamie,” and Drumsheugh laughed aloud, a luxury hardly -known in the Glen, while even Gormack himself made a joyful noise within -like the running down of an eight-day clock. -</p> -<p> -“It's an ill job weel ended,” resumed Hillocks, recalling the fathers to -sobriety, “an' Burnbrae's gotten his fairm back; but it's bare the day, -withoot a beast tae pit in the byres this winter, or a ploo tae turn the -stubble. -</p> -<p> -“Nae doot he hed a graund sale, and the fat cattle cowed a'thing for -price, but stockin' ower again 'll be a heavy loss; it's a terrible peety -his lordship wesna hame suner.” - </p> -<p> -Then they went into matters thoroughly, and Drumsheugh gave judgment. -</p> -<p> -“Gin he hed back his implements, and Jean's coos, an' some o' the auld -horse, an' maybe a dozen stirk, h 'd come oot richt aifter a'; a' didna -hear the dealers boastin' aboot their bargains laist Friday,” he added -with satisfaction. -</p> -<p> -There was a long pause in the conversation, during which Drumsheugh -examined a loose slate on the roof of the church from three different -points of view, and Jamie Soutar refreshed his remembrance of a -neighbouring tombstone. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mean?” began Whinnie, but broke off at the contempt in Jamie's -eye. -</p> -<p> -“Sall,” Hillocks exclaimed in a little. “What think ye, Gormack?” - </p> -<p> -“They 're no veeciously inclined fouk in the Glen,” responded that worthy -man, with studied moderation. “A' wudna say but it micht be dune. Maist o' -what we 're aifter is in the Glen, some hole or ither. It wud croon a',” - and Gormack began to warm. -</p> -<p> -“Nae fear o' the implements,” said Hillocks, in full scent, “nor the -puckle young beasts, but a 'll no be satisfeed, neeburs, gin the gude wife -disna get back her byre tae the last coo.” - </p> -<p> -“A 've twa stirks,” interrupted Whinnie, taking in the situation at last. -</p> -<p> -“Haud yir tongue till a' coont up the kye,” and Hillocks buckled to work. -</p> -<p> -“It's an aucht byre, and Jean keepit ane; that leaves seeven tae collect; -noo a' hae twa masel, an' Netherton bocht the quey; that's three a' richt. -</p> -<p> -“Didna ye get the Angus doddie, Drumsheugh? weel, ye 'ill no be hard tae -deal wi'; an' Bogie took anither—he's no here, but he's a cautious -man, Bogie; there's nae fear o' him. That's five. -</p> -<p> -“Whar's the lave? Ou aye, a' mind Mary Robertson scrapit up eneuch for the -white coo, a fine milker; it wud hardly be richt, maybe, tae ask her—” - </p> -<p> -“Ae coo as gude's anither tae Mary,” broke in Drumsheugh. “A 'll see she -disna lose.” - </p> -<p> -“Weel, that's a' richt,” Hillocks went on; “and we 've juist tae find -anither, and that 's the hale hypothic.” - </p> -<p> -“It 's no ill tae find,” said Jamie, “but it 'ill beat ye tae get her.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're no meanin'—man,—ye hev it; the body did buy ane, an' he -'ill be wantin' twa or three notes on the bargain; Milton's a fair scannal -in the Glen,” and Hillocks's countenance, a near enough man in season -himself, was full of scorn. -</p> -<p> -“A'm astonished at ye,” and Jamie eyed Hillocks with severity; “div ye no -ken that Milton is the only man in the Glen that hes ony licht ava? he's -sae releegious that a' never herd o' him daein' a dirty trick, but his -conscience telt him. It 'ill cost five notes tae mak his duty plain.” - </p> -<p> -“If Milton disna gie back the beast at the roup price, in the -circumstances-” - </p> -<p> -“Aye, aye, Drumsheugh,” said Hillocks encouragingly. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, he needna show his face in the Kil-drummie train, that's a'; ye -have yir aucht complete noo, Hillocks, an' a 'll cast ma mind ower the -implements in the sermon.” - </p> -<p> -“A 'll drive doon the twa stirks the mom's morn,” for Whinnie was anxious -to show his zeal. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 'll dae naethin' o' the kind,” responded Jamie. “Burnbrae's plenishing -gaed awa in a day, and it 'ill gae back in a day. Drumsheugh, ye begun the -wark, and ye 'ill hae tae feenish it.” - </p> -<p> -“A 'll dae the Glen by Wednesday nicht, arf a'thing 'ill need tae be hame -by Thursday, or Burnbrae'ill be in at Muirtown on Friday githerin' stock. -Ye 'ill keep a quiet tongue, neeburs.” - </p> -<p> -“Lippen (trust) tae that, Drumsheugh,” Jamie answered; “it's easier than -speakin' in Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -Drumsheugh was wrapped in thought till the Doctor came to the application, -when his face lightened, and he took snuff with leisurely satisfaction. -</p> -<p> -“There wes a set o' harrows,” he admitted to Jamie afterwards, “near beat -me; they're doon Dunleith wy, but a'll hae a haud o'them.” - </p> -<p> -For three days the Glen was full of mystery, and the latest news of the -campaign could be had at the smiddy. -</p> -<p> -Saunders, Drumsheugh's foreman, came with some machine teeth on Monday -evening, and brought the first intelligence. -</p> -<p> -“The maister's in frae the wast end, and he's no hed a single refusal; yon -Dunleith fairmer that cam on the dun sheltie (pony) wes that pleased at -Brunbrae getting his fairm again, he offered back the harrows himsel, and -is tae send up a single ploo an' a pair o' fanners 'at gied doon yon wy. -</p> -<p> -“Drumsheugh's tae be oot at five the morn, an' he's expeckin' tae sweep -the Glen,” and Saunders struck a match with emphasis. -</p> -<p> -“It beats a',” said the smith, amazed at Saunders's continued speech; “the -Glen's fair roosed.” - </p> -<p> -On Wednesday evening Drumsheugh was his own messenger, but would only -speak in parables. -</p> -<p> -“Gin this weather keeps on, they 'ill be cuttin' roads for the machines by -the end o' the week.... A 'll need tae be aff, it's gettin' late, and a've -hed twa days o't.... There 's a fell puckle fairms in the pairish, aince -ye gae roond them.... -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, there's waur fouk in the coonty than oor neeburs,” and now every -one listened with both his ears; “the fac is, there's no ae disobleeging, -ill-condeetioned wratch in Drumtochty, or ane that wudna dae his pairt by -a gude man.” Whereupon the smith struck a mighty blow, and the sparks flew -to the roof in celebration of a great achievement. -</p> -<p> -“It's a broon and white caufie ye hev, smith,” were Drumsheugh's last -words. “Ye micht bring it up the mornin's aifternoon aboot fower, and slip -it intae the park afore the hoose.” - </p> -<p> -“That's the stiffest job Drumsheugh ever pit his hand tae, an' he's dune -it weel,” and then the smith meditated, “hoo did he ever get roond -Milton?” - </p> -<p> -Hillocks came in late and threw some light on that problem. -</p> -<p> -“A' met Drumsheugh comin' doon frae Milton, and a' lookit at him. -</p> -<p> -“The 'ill be nane o' Jean's byre missin' the morn, Hillocks.” - </p> -<p> -“That's a' he said, but his face wes as red as the harvest mune, and you -wud hae thocht tae see his walk that he wes the Earl o' Kilspindie.” - Burnbrae was afterwards amazed at the duplicity of Drumtochty, which -compassed him with lies and befooled him on every hand, in his local -efforts to restock his farm. Hillocks declined to treat for restoration -till he knew how prices stood on Friday, and Netherton, his fellow-elder, -was doubtful whether he could let him have two carts, while Drumsheugh -refused politely but firmly to cancel his purchase in cows. Drumtochty was -triumphant over Burnbrae's victory, and full of sympathy with him in his -position, but there were limits to kindness, and the Glen meant to stick -by their bargains. -</p> -<p> -“It's no what a' wud hae expeckit o' the neeburs, an' least o' a' frae -Drumsheugh,” Jean complained, as she sat on Thursday afternoon in the -garden. Burnbrae had just returned from a very disappointing visit to -Donald Menzies, who expounded a recent conflict with the devil in minute -detail, but would not come within a mile of business. -</p> -<p> -“We maunna judge the fouk hardly,” said Burnbrae; “a bargain 's a bargain; -they gave top prices, an' nae doot they wantit what they bocht. They did -their pairt at the roup, an' it wud be unreasonable tae ask mair,” but -Burnbrae was inwardly perplexed. -</p> -<p> -An hour afterwards James Soutar explained to Jean that he happened to be -passing, and thought he would give them “a cry,” and ended by dragging -Burnbrae off to the most distant field on the farm to decide when a patch -of oats he had bought in the roup would be ready for the scythe. He then -settled on a dyke, and for two hours fought the great war over again from -beginning to end, with a keen dramatic instinct and an amazing flow of -caustic commentary. -</p> -<p> -“A 'll no deny,” when Burnbrae compelled him to return for tea, “that a'm -disappointed in the fouk sin laist Friday. They micht hae let their -bargains gae an' sent ye up the rough o' the stockin'. -</p> -<p> -“Noo gin a' hed been the like o' Drumsheugh,” and Jamie again came to a -halt, “a' wud hae scorned tae keep onything ye needed, but they 're -grippy, there's nae doot o' that, in Drumtochty; a've thocht mony a -time... is yon a cairt comin' up the road? -</p> -<p> -“If it's no a load o' implements and cairt-harness! It's terribly like -Saunders frae Drumsheugh, but there's nae use cryin', for he 'ill no lat -on he hears. -</p> -<p> -“Sall,” continued Jamie, as they struck the track, “there's been mair than -ae cairt up here; an' a' didna see ye hed cattle in the gairden field as -we passed.” - </p> -<p> -“Naither a' hev; there's no aleevin' beast on the place forbye puir -Brownie. A' canna mak it oot!” and Burnbrae quickened his steps. -</p> -<p> -Donald Menzies's son passed with a bridle, as if he had left a horse -“behind him, and Gormack met them on horseback, as if he had come with a -cart, but, beyond the weather, they had nothing to say. Whinnie was -wrestling with two stirks to get them into a field—with the result -that one went up the road and another down, after the manner of their kind—and -had no leisure for conversation. A large roller had stuck in the last -gate, and young Netherton was not in a mood to answer questions. -</p> -<p> -“Ask Drumsheugh,” was all that could be got out of him as he backed his -horse first one way and then the other. -</p> -<p> -“Ma opeenion,” said Jamie solemnly, “is that Drumtochty's gaen geit -(crazy). Did ye ever see the like o' that?” - </p> -<p> -The farmhouse and other buildings made a square, and Burnbrae stood beyond -speech or motion at the sight which met his eyes. The “ports” of the -cart-shed, that had been a yawning void when he left, were filled once -more with two carts in each—his own well-mended carts—the one -behind, with the trams on the ground and the one before, suspended from -the roof by the chain saddle; and if Piggie Walker was not unharnessing a -pony from the old dogcart in the turnip-shed. 'The greys that made the -second pair—but they were really white—and which he had -grudged selling far more than the young horses, came up from the water and -went sedately into the stable. Through the door he could see that Jean's -byre was nearly full, and outside two calves had settled down to supper -upon a guano bag with much relish. Saunders, Baxter and Tammas Mitchell -were shouldering the fanners into the corn room, while the servant -lassies, quite off their heads with excitement, were carrying in the dairy -dishes that some cart had left. The courtyard was strewn with implements, -and in the centre stood Drumsheugh full of power and forcible speech, a -sight never to be forgotten. -</p> -<p> -“Hurry up wi' the fanners, lads, and yoke on the ploos, pit the harrows in -the cairt-shed, an' hang thae saidles in the stable; ye micht gie the -horses a feed, and see the coos hae a bite o' grass. -</p> -<p> -“Cairry that harness into the hoose, Piggie, the wife keeps it hersel; -man, a' forgot tae gie ye a word; hoo did ye hear? onywy, it wes neeburly -tae gie back the auld dogcairt. -</p> -<p> -“Jamie Soutar hes wiled the gude man oot o' the road, but he 'ill sune be -back, an' we maun hae the place snod afore he comes.” - </p> -<p> -Then he saw Burnbrae and Jamie, and raged furiously. -</p> -<p> -“It's maist aggravatin' that some fouk 'ill come when they 're no wantit, -an' stan' glowerin' till ye wud think they hed never seen a fairm toon -redd (cleaned) up in their life. -</p> -<p> -“The fac is,” and Drumsheugh relapsed into private life, “the neeburs -thocht ye micht be the better of some o' yir plenishin' back tae begin -wi', an' the maist o' what's in the Glen 'ill be here afore nicht. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna say a word aboot it; it wud hae been a disgrace tae see ye buyin' -in the Muirtown market, an' yir goods on oor fairms. We're hard, but we -'re no sae mean as that. Whup that reapin' machine oot o' the road, -Tammas,” shouted Drumsheugh, creating a skilful diversion for Burnbrae's -benefit. -</p> -<p> -Two cows came round the corner, and made for their byre with the air of -persons glad to find themselves in familiar surroundings after -discomposing adventures in foreign parts. Hawkie stepped aside at the door -to allow Queenie to enter first, for there is a strict order of precedence -among cows, and however it might have been disregarded in strange byres, -good manners must be observed at home. -</p> -<p> -Three minutes later Hillocks sauntered in with explanations. -</p> -<p> -“They kent their ain road as sune as we got sicht o' the hooses; it 's a -fine hairst day, Drumsheugh; is the byre fillin'?” - </p> -<p> -“It's full, man; the laist coo 's in, and Burnbrae 's aff tae tell the -gude wife; naebody hes failed, Hillocks, an' a'm expectin' the ministers -up every minute.” - </p> -<p> -Jean was utterly dazed, and Burnbrae knew not what to do with her. Between -the going and the coming her strength had given, and she could only sit -motionless except when she wiped the tears from her cheeks. -</p> -<p> -“If Doctor Davidson isna comin' up the near road wi' Maister Cunningham. -Drumsheugh's telt them, a'll wager, and they're comin' tae wush us weel. -</p> -<p> -“It's a terrible peety, Jean, ye 're no able tae see them,” continued -Burnbrae, with great cunning; “they wud nearly need tae get their tea -comin' sae far, an' Drumsheugh tae, for he's hed an aifternune. -</p> -<p> -“But it canna be helpit noo, an' of coorse the'ill be naethin' for them; a -'ll juist say ye 're no yersel the day, an' tell the lassies tae bring in -a jug o' milk,” and Burnbrae made for the door. -</p> -<p> -“Wud ye daur tae send onybody awa frae oor hoose this day withoot brakin' -bread, tae say naethin'o' the ministers?” and Jean was already hunting for -her best dress. “Gae doon this meenut an' show them ower the place, an', -John, man, keep them awa for an 'oor.” - </p> -<p> -When the party returned from their round all things were ready, and Jean -received the company in her black silk and a cap that called forth the -warm congratulations of the doctor. -</p> -<p> -It was a meal to be remembered, and remained a date for calculation while -the old people lived. Twenty times at least did Jean apologise for its -imperfection—the scones which wanted more firing and the butter that -was soft through heat—and as many times did the doctor declare with -solemnity that he never expected to taste the like again till he returned -to Burnbrae. Seven times exactly did Jean go out to supplement the table -with forgotten dainties, and once she was so long away that Drumsheugh -accused her of visiting the byre. -</p> -<p> -“No likely wi' this goon on. It's plain ye ken little o' women fouk, -Drumsheugh.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye juist keekit in, a'm thinking tae see that the hale aucht were in -their sta's, eh, gude wife?” and when Jean's face pled guilty, Burnbrae -laughed joyfully, and declared that “the elder wes comin' on,” and that -“they micht see a mistress in Drumsheugh yet.” - </p> -<p> -They all did their part, but it was agreed that the doctor excelled beyond -competition. He told his best stories in a way that amazed even his -faithful elder, while Drumsheugh and Burnbrae watched for the coming point -to honour it with vociferous applause, and again would deploy in front to -draw forth another favourite. No one could have felt happy if Mr. -Cunningham had taken to anecdotage, but his honest effort to follow the -lead and be in at the death with each story was delightful. Once also he -threw in a quotation from the Georgies, which the doctor declared the -cleverest thing he had ever heard, and the abashed man became the object -of silent admiration for sixty seconds. One of the lassies, specially -dressed for the occasion, was continually bringing in hot water and -reserve tea-pots, till the doctor accused Drumsheugh of seven cups, and -threatened him with the session for immoderate drinking; and Drumsheugh -hinted that the doctor was only one short himself. Simple fooling of -country folk, that would sound very poor beside the wit of the city, but -who shall estimate the love in Burnbrae's homely room that evening? -</p> -<p> -When at last the doctor rose to go, in spite of Jean's last remonstrance -that he had eaten nothing, Burnbrae said he would like the ministers to -take the reading that night, and then they all went into the kitchen, -which had been made ready. A long table stood in the centre, and at one -end lay the old family Bible; round the table gathered Burnbrae's sons and -the serving lads and women. Doctor Davidson motioned to the Free Church -minister to take his place at the head. -</p> -<p> -“This is your family, and your elder's house.” But Cunningham spoke out -instantly with a clear voice: -</p> -<p> -“Doctor Davidson, there is neither Established nor Free Church here this -night; we are all one in faith and love, and you were ordained before I -was born.” - </p> -<p> -“I thank you, sir, for this honour,” said the doctor, and Drumsheugh said -that he had never seen him look so pleased. -</p> -<p> -He was already selecting the psalm, when Burnbrae asked leave to say a -word, and there was such a stillness that the ticking of the clock in the -lobby was heard over the kitchen. -</p> -<p> -“It isna needfu' for me tae tell ye, freends, that my mind is wi' the Free -Kirk in her contention, and a' houp for grace tae obey ma licht as lang as -a' live. -</p> -<p> -“Nae man's conscience, hooever, is a law tae his neebur, but every man -maun follow the guidance o' the Speerit; an' gin a' hev said a hasty or -bitter word against the Auld Kirk, or called her ony unworthy name thae -past years, a' want tae say that nane regrets it mair than a' dae masel, -and it becomes me, this nicht, tae ask yir pardon.” - </p> -<p> -“You never did anything of the kind, Burnbrae,” said the doctor huskily. -“I wish to God we were all as good men,” and the Free Kirk elder and the -Moderate minister clasped hands across the open Bible. Then the doctor -cleared his throat with great majesty, and gave out the -Hundred-and-thirty-third Psalm: -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -“Behold how good a thing it is, -And how becoming well, -Together, such as brethren are -In unity to dwell.” - </pre> -<p> -And the sweet sound of Eastgate floated out on the peaceful air of the -Glen, where the harvest moon was shining upon fields of gold. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -A MANIFEST JUDGMENT -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen the practice of Drumtochty was advertised, and the duties defined by -geography—the emoluments being treated with marked reserve—the -medical profession did not contend in a body for the post, and it was more -than a year before William Maclure had a successor. During the interregnum -temporary physicians of varied experience and erratic character took -charge of our health for short periods, and the Glen had experiences which -are still fondly cherished, and afforded Elspeth Macfadyen the raw -material for some of her most finished products. One of these worthies was -a young gentleman twenty-four years of age and of Irish descent, whose -thirst for fees and hatred of anything beyond the minimum of labour -bordered on genius. It was he who declined to enter Lizzie Taylor's house, -although sent for in the most interesting circumstances, and discoursed -outside the door with a volubility that seemed almost Satanic, till he had -received an earnest of ten shillings in fourteen coins of the realm. -Perhaps the Glen was more indignant when Dr. O'Bralligan declined to rise -one night and go to Glen Urtach, “not even if his sainted grandmother came -to ask him, riding on-the back of the Angel Gabriel.” - </p> -<p> -“It 'ill no be Gabriel 'at 'ill tak chairge o' him,” said Janies Soutar -succinctly. And the feeling in the kirkyard was so decided that -O'Bralligan left within a week, explaining to Peter Bruce at the Junction -that the people of Drumtochty were the “most oudacious and on-reasonable -set o' blackguards” he had ever seen. -</p> -<p> -His successor had enjoyed the remarkable privilege of ministering in a -fleeting capacity to the health of sixty-three parishes during a -professional practice of under twenty years, and retained through all -vicissitudes a pronounccd Glasgow accent, and an unquenchable thirst for -distilled liquors. Dr. Murchieson was not greedy about fees, and had -acquired considerable skill in his eventful life, so the Glen endured him -for three months, but used him with precautions. -</p> -<p> -“Gin ye catch him gaein' east,” Hillocks summed up, “he's as quiet a man -as ye wud wish, and skilly tae, but comin' wast he's clean redeeklus; last -nicht,” added Hillocks, “he wes cairyin' his hat on the pint o' his stick -an' singin' 'Scots wha hae.'” - </p> -<p> -An unaccountable tendency in certain states of mind to prescribe calomel -tried the patience of the Glen, and Gormack conceived a personal prejudice -against Murchieson because he had ordered him to be blistered with croton -oil till he returned next day, when Gormack had a “titch” of bronchitis; -but his cup ran over the night he sounded a pillow instead of Maggie -Martin's lungs, and gave her mother no hope. -</p> -<p> -“Congested frae top tae bottom; nae whasle (rales) at a' the day; naethin' -can be dune; a fine lassie,” and he departed, after a brief nap, full of -music. -</p> -<p> -Hillocks drove him to the station, and he seemed to bear no grudge. -</p> -<p> -“That maks saxty-fower—a 've forgotten the names, but a' keep the -coont.” - </p> -<p> -His farewell was divided between a generous appreciation of Drumtochty and -an unfeigned regret that Kildrummie had no refreshment-room. -</p> -<p> -“Ilka trade hes some ne'er-dae-weels, an' the doctors hae fewer than -maist. Ye canna expect onything else frae thae orra craturs,” said -Drumsheugh next Sabbath, “an' we 're better withoot them. It passes me hoo -yon body stude it, for he wes aye tastin'.” - </p> -<p> -“He didna stand it,” broke in Hillocks with eagerness; “div ye ken hoo -mony whups he 's hed? 'A've been saxty-fower times,' he says to me at -Kildrummie; a' doot he wes exaggerating though.” - </p> -<p> -“Been what, Hillocks?” inquired Jamie with keen interest. -</p> -<p> -“Ye ken what a'm ettlin' aifter fine, Jamie, an' it's no a chancy word tae -mention.” - </p> -<p> -“Wes't <i>locum tenens?</i>” - </p> -<p> -“That,” said Hillocks, “is the word, if ye maun hae it; a' wunner the -body's no feared; it's an awfu' business,” and Hillocks dropped into -morals, “when a man canna manage his drink.” - </p> -<p> -Jamie declared that he had never seen the kirkyard so overcome, and ever -afterwards Hillocks's name suggested sudden and captivating strokes of -humour, so that men's faces lit up at the sight of him. -</p> -<p> -It was in these circumstances that the Glen fell back on Kirsty Stewart -for medical aid, with the Kildrummie doctor as a last resort, and Kirsty -covered her name with glory for a generation. She had always had some -reputation as a practitioner of ability and experience—being learned -in herbs, and the last of her folk; but her admirers were themselves -astonished at the insight she showed in the mysterious illness of Peter -Macintosh, and her very detractors could only insinuate that her credit -ended with diagnosis. His case had a certain distinction from the first -day he complained, and we remembered afterwards that it was never -described as a “whup.” During the first week even there was a vague -impression in the Glen, conveyed by an accent, that Peter was the subject -of a dispensation, and the kirk-yard was full of chastened curiosity. -</p> -<p> -“What's this that 's wrang wi' Peter Macintosh, Whinnie?” broke out -Drumsheugh, with a certain magisterial authority. “Ye live near him, and -sud hae the richts o't. As for the fouk doon bye, ye can get naethin' oot -o' them; the smith juist shook his head twa nichts syne, as if he wes at a -beerial.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye needna speir at me, Drumsheugh,” responded Whinnie, with solemnity, -“for a' ken nae mair than ye dae yersel, though oor fields mairch and we -'ve aye been neeburly.” - </p> -<p> -“Losh keep 's, ye surely can tell us whar it 's catchit Peter; is 't in -his head or his heels? is he gaein' aboot or hes he ta'en tae his bed? did -ye no see him?” said Drumsheugh severely. -</p> -<p> -“Ou aye, a' saw him, gin that be onything; but ye canna get muckle oot o' -Peter at the best, and he 's clean past speakin' noo. -</p> -<p> -“He wes sittin' in his chair afore the door; an' a' he said wes, 'This is -an awfu' business, Whinnie,' and he wud dance in his seat for maybe twa -meenuts. 'What 's ailin' ye, Peter?' a' askit. 'A red-het ploo iron on ma -back,' says he, an' it gied me a grue tae hear him.” - </p> -<p> -“Mercy on 's, neeburs,” interrupted Hillocks, “this is no cannie.” - </p> -<p> -“It's no his briest,” pursued Whinnie, “for he hesna got a hoast; an' it's -no a stroke, whatever it be, for he 's aye on the motion; an' it 's no his -inside; but in or oot, Peter 's a waesome sicht,” and Whinnie's manner -greatly impressed the fathers. -</p> -<p> -Leezbeth went up on Monday, as a commissioner from Drumsheugh, and that -masterful woman made no doubt that she would unravel the mystery; but she -was distinctly awed by Mrs. McIntosh s tone, which was a fine blend of -anxiety and importance. -</p> -<p> -“Hoo are ye, Leezbeth, an' hoo's Drumsheugh? There's threatenin' tae be a -scoorie, but it 'ill maybe haud up till the aifternoon. Wull ye come in -tae the kitchen the day? The gude man's no hansel' the noo, and he's -sittin' ben the hoose.” - </p> -<p> -“That's what a' cam' aboot,” said Leezbeth, rebelling against the -solemnity of the atmosphere; “we heard doon bye that he wes sober (ill), -an' the maister's aff tae Dunleith, and cudna get up tae speir for him. -What's the natur' o' the tribble? Wes t sudden?” - </p> -<p> -Janet knew she was mistress of the situation for once, and had no fear -that Leezbeth could bring her down from her high places in this rough -fashion. -</p> -<p> -“It's rael freendly o' ye, an' a'm muckle ob-leeged; the fouk are awfu' -ta'en up aboot Peter, an' there's juist ae word on a'body's mooth. A' ken -what's comin' as sune as a' see a neebur crossin' the fields. -</p> -<p> -“Ye may be sure, Leezbeth, a' wud tell ye, gin a' kent masel,” and Janet -wagged her head; “it's nae pleesure tae me that there sud be naethin' noo -at kirk or market but Peter's tribble, and tae hae half the Glen deavin' -me wi' questions. -</p> -<p> -“Wumman, a' tell ye, as sure as a'm stan-nin' here, a' wud raither hae -Peter gaein' aboot at his wark instead o' a' this tiravee (commotion), and -him girnin' frae mornin' tae nicht in his chair. Div ye hear him ragin' at -Mary?” - </p> -<p> -“Gae awa oot o' there,” and Peter was evidently rejecting some office of -attention; “gin ye come near me a 'll tak ma stick tae yir shoothers, ye -little trimmie; ma word, a'm het eneuch withoot a plaid.” - </p> -<p> -“This is a terrible hoose the noo,” and Janet struggled vainly with a -natural pride; “there's been naethin' like this wi' oor forbears sae far -back as a' can mind, an' a' doot gin there's been the marra o't in the -Glen.” - </p> -<p> -“Hoo's he affeckit?” for Leezbeth was much exasperated by Janet's airs, a -woman who, in ordinary circumstances, could not have withstood her for an -instant. “Ye can surely say that muckle. It 's no his chest; that 's in -fine fettle; it 'ill be aither his legs or his head; maist likely his head -frae the wy he's carryin' on.” - </p> -<p> -“Leezbeth, dinna mak licht o' sic a veesita-tion,” said Janet, with all -the dignity of affliction; “ye dinna ken when it micht draw nearer hame. -It wes hangin' ower Peter for months, but it cam oot sudden in the end, a' -in a piece ae morning. Na, the tribble 'ill tak a rin up an' doon his -legs, but it disna settle there, an' a' canna deny that he 's fractious at -a time, but he never rammils (wanders); whatever it be, the tribble keeps -tae its ain place.” - </p> -<p> -“Whar is that and what like is't?” for Leezbeth was now reduced to -entreaty; “there maun be something tae see, an', Janet wum-man, a've hed -deiths amang ma fouk, tae sae naethin' o' bringin' up Drumsheugh's calves -for thirty year.” - </p> -<p> -“A' ken ye're skilly, Leezbeth,” said Janet, much mollified by Leezbeth's -unwonted humility, “an' a'd be gled o' yir advice. Ye daurna ask Peter for -a sicht, but a 'll gie ye an idea o't. It's juist for a' the warld,” and -Leezbeth held her breath, “like a sklatch o' eukiness (itchiness) half -roond his waist, naither mair nor less.” - </p> -<p> -“Is that a', Janet?” and Leezbeth began to take revenge for her -humiliation; “ye needna hae made sic an ado aboot. Div ye no ken what's -the maitter wi' yir man? gin ye hed ony gumption (sense) he micht hae been -weel lang syne. -</p> -<p> -“Wumman, it 's a heat in the banes 'at he's gotten laist hairst, and the -spring's drawin' it oot. Dinna send it in for ony sake, eke ye 'ill hae -yir man in the kirkyaird. -</p> -<p> -“Ma advice,” continued Leezbeth, now rioting in triumph, “t'wud be tae rub -him weel wi whisky; ye canna gang wrang wi' speerits, oot or in; an' dinna -lat him sleep; if he took tae dronyin' (dozing) ye micht never get him -waukened.” And so Drumsheugh's housekeeper departed, having dashed Janet -at a stroke. -</p> -<p> -When Kirsty arrived in the afternoon to offer her services, Janet had no -heart to enter into the case. -</p> -<p> -“Drumsheugh's Leezbeth gied us a cry afore dinner and settled the maitter; -gin she lays doon the law there 's naebody need conter her; ye wud think -she 'd been at the creation tae hear her speak; ye 've hed a lang traivel, -Kirsty, an' ye 'ill be ready for yir tea.” - </p> -<p> -“Ou ay,” replied Janet bitterly, “she gied it a name; it's naething but a -bit heat—a bairn's rash, a'm jidgin', though a'never saw ane like it -a' ma days; but Leezbeth kens better, wi' a' her experience, an' of coorse -it's a sateesfaction tae ken that the Glen needna fash (trouble) -themselves aboot Peter.” - </p> -<p> -“Leezbeth wesna blate,” Kirsty burst out, unable to contain herself at the -thought of this intrusion into her recognised sphere, “an' it 's a mercy -we hae the like o' her in the Glen noo that Doctor Maclure is deid an' -gane. Did ye say her experience?” and Kirsty began to warm to the -occasion; “a' wunner whether it's wi' beasts or fouk? Gin it be wi' -Drumsheugh's young cattle, a' hae naethin' tae say; but gin it be -Christians, a' wud juist ask ae question—hoo mony o' her fouk hes -she beeried?” - </p> -<p> -“Naethin' tae speak o' aside you, Kirsty,” said Janet, in propitiation; -“a'body kens what preevileges ye 've hed.” - </p> -<p> -“Ae brither an' twa half sisters, that 's a',” continued Kirsty, “for a' -hed it frae her own lips; it's no worth mentionin'; gin a' hed seen nae -mair tribble than that a' wud be ashamed tae show ma face in a sick hoose; -lat's hear aboot yir man, Janet,” and Kirsty settled down to details. -</p> -<p> -“Did ye say half roond, Janet?” and she leaned forward with concern on -every feature. -</p> -<p> -“That 's hoo it is; the ither side is as white as a bairn's skin; an' -though he be ma man, a 'll say this for him, that he's aye hed clean blude -an' nae marks; but what are ye glowerin' at? hae ye ony licht? speak, -wumman.” - </p> -<p> -“This is a mair serious business, Janet, than onybody suspectit,” and -Kirsty sighed heavily. -</p> -<p> -“Preserve's, Kirsty, what div ye think is the matter wi' Peter? tell's the -warst at aince,” for Kirsty's face suggested an apocalypse of woe. -</p> -<p> -“A heat,” she said, still lingering over Leez-beth's shallow, amateur -suggestion, “gotten at the hairst... rub it wi' whisky... ay, ay, it 's -plain whar she gets her skill, 'at disna ken the differ atween the tribble -o' a man an' a beast. -</p> -<p> -“Isn't maist michty,” and now Kirsty grew indignant, “'at a wumman o' -Leezbeth's age cudna tell an eruption frae a jidgment?” - </p> -<p> -“Kirsty Stewart, hoo div ye ken that?” cried Janet, much lifted; “a' wes -jalousin' that it passed ordinary, but what gars ye think o' jidgment?” - </p> -<p> -“A'm no the wumman tae meddle wi' sic a word lichtly. Na, na, a' micht hae -gaed awa' an' said naethin' gin Leezbeth hedna been sae ready wi' her -heats. -</p> -<p> -“A'm no wantin' tae frichten ye, Janet,” and Kirsty's face assumed an -awful significance, “an' a'm no wantin' tae flatter ye, but ye may lippen -tae't Peter's hed a special dispensation. Did ye say aboot twa -hands'-breadths?” - </p> -<p> -As Janet could only nod, Kirsty continued: “He's been gruppit by a muckle -hand, an' it's left the sign. Leezbeth wes maybe no sae far wrang aboot -the heat, but it came frae the oot-side, a'm dootin'.” - </p> -<p> -“Div ye mean,” and Janet's voice had sunk to a whisper, “is't auld—” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna say the word, wumman; he micht be hearin', and there's nae use -temptin' him. It's juist a warnin', ye see, an' it's a mercy he gied nae -farther. Hed he ta'en baith hands, it micht hae been the end o' yir man.” - </p> -<p> -“This is no lichtsome,” and Janet began to wail, although not quite -insensible to the distinction Peter had achieved; “a' kent frae the -beginnin' this wesna a common tribble, an' we 've behadden tae ye for -settlin' the maitter. Whatever lies Peter dune tae bringisic a jidgment on -himsel? He 's a cautious man as ye 'ill get in the Glen, an' pays his rent -tae the day; he may taste at a time, but he never fechts; it beats me tae -pit ma hand on the meanin' o't.” - </p> -<p> -“There wes some clash (gossip) aboot him contradickin' the minister,” said -Kirsty, looking into the remote distance. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mean the colie-shangie (disturbance) ower the new stove, when -Peter and the doctor hed sic a cast oot? Ye 're an awfu' wumman,” and -Janet regarded Kirsty with admiration; “a' never wud hae thocht o' -conneckin' the twa things. But a' daurna say ye 've no richt, for a' hed -ma ain fears aboot the wy Peter wes cairryin' on. -</p> -<p> -“'A 'll no gie up ma pew whar oor fouk hae sat Gude kens hoo lang, for the -doctor or ony ither man; they can pit the stove on the ither side, an' gin -it disna draw there, the doctor can set it up in the kirkyaird.' Thae were -his verra words, Kirsty, an' a' tell 't him, they wud dae him nae gude. -</p> -<p> -“If a' didna beg o' him ootside that door no tae gang against the -minister. 'Dinna be the first in the Glen tae anger the doctor,' a' said; -but Peter's that thrawn when his birse is up that ye micht as weel speak -tae a wall. -</p> -<p> -“He's made a bonnie like endin' wi' his dourness; but, Kirsty, he 's sair -humbled, an' a' wudna say but he micht come roond gin he wes hannelled -cautious. What wud ye advise, Kirsty?” - </p> -<p> -“The doctor's comin' hame this week, a'm hearing an' he 'ill be up tae see -Peter afore Sabbath. Noo ma opinion is,” and Kirsty spoke with great -deliberation, “that ye micht juist bring roond the conversation till ye -titched on the stove, an' Peter cud gie the doctor tae understand that -there wud be nae mair argiment aboot his seat. -</p> -<p> -“Whinnie cud get a bottle fraethe Muirtown doctor on Friday—it wud -be a help—but it's no medeecine, no, nor whisky,' 'at 'ill dae the -wark. Gin ye settle with the minister, yir man 'ill be in the kirk afore -the month be oot,” and Kirsty was invested with such mystery that Janet -hardly dared an allusion to Milton's third marriage. -</p> -<p> -Peter made his first appearance in the kirk-yard the very day the stove -was installed, and received the congratulations of the fathers with an -admirable modesty. -</p> -<p> -“A' wes feared he micht be lifted,” Hillocks remarked, after Peter had -gone in to take possession of his new seat, “an' ye cudna hae wonnered gin -he hed, for he's gaen through mair than most, but he held oot his hand for -the box wi' as little pride as if it hed been rheumatiks. -</p> -<p> -“He's fell hearty an' cheery, but Peter's hed a shak, an' when he saw the -smoke oot the stove there wes a look cam ower his face. Sall,” concluded -Hillocks, with emphasis, “he 'ill no meddle with the minister again, a 'll -warrant.” - </p> -<p> -“Wha wud hae thocht the doctor wes sae veecious, or are ye considerin' -that there wes anither hand in't, Hillocks?” inquired Jamie Soutar, with -great smoothness of speech. -</p> -<p> -“Naebody said the minister did it, Jamie, and a' never said onybody did -it, but we may hae oor ain thochts, and Peter 'ill no forget this stramash -(accident) as lang as he lives.” - </p> -<p> -“Na, na, a minister's an ill craw tae shoot at, Jamie,” and Hillocks went -into kirk as one who had rebuked a mocking scepticism; but Jamie stood -alone under the beech-tree till they had raised the psalm, and then he -followed his neighbors, with a face of funereal solemnity. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -DRUMSHEUGH'S LOVE STORY -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>RUMSHEUGH had arrested Dr. Maclure on the high road the winter before he -died, and compelled him to shelter for a while, since it was a rough -December night not far from Christmas, and every one knew the doctor had -begun to fail. -</p> -<p> -“Is that you, Weelum?” for the moon was not yet up, and an east wind was -driving the snow in clouds; “a' wes oot seein' the sheep werena smoored in -the drift, an' a'm wrastlin' hame. -</p> -<p> -“Come back tae the hoose an' rest; gin there's tae be ony mune she 'ill be -oot by nine, and the wind 'ill maybe settle; ye 're baith o' ye sair -forfoochen” (exhausted), and Drumsheugh seized Jess's bridle. -</p> -<p> -For eight miles the wind had been on Mac-lure's back, and he was cased in -snow from the crown of the felt hat, that was bent to meet his jacket -collar, down to the line of his saddle. The snow made a little bank on the -edge of the saddle that was hardly kept, in check by the heat of Jess's -body; it was broken into patches on his legs by the motion of riding, but -clung in hard lumps to the stirrup irons. The fine drift whirling round -powdered him in front, and melting under his breath, was again frozen into -icicles on his beard, and had made Jess's mane still whiter. When -Drumsheugh's housekeeper opened the kitchen door and the light fell on the -horse and her master—a very ghostly sight—Leezabeth was only -able to say, “Preserve 's a' body and soul,” which was the full form of a -prayer in use on all occasions of surprise. -</p> -<p> -Three times the doctor essayed to come down, and could not for stiffness, -and he would have fallen on the doorstep had it not been for Drumsheugh. -</p> -<p> -“This 'ill be a lesson tae ye, Weelum,” helping him in to the kitchen; “ye -'re doonricht numbed; get aff the doctor's boots, Leezabeth, an' bring a -coat for him.” - </p> -<p> -“Awa wi' ye; div ye think a'm a bairn?... A 'll be masel in a meenut... it -wes the cauld... they're stiff tae pull, Leezabeth... let me dae't... -weel, weel, if ye wull... but a' dinna like tae see a wumman servin' a man -like this.” - </p> -<p> -He gave in after a slight show of resistance, and Leezabeth, looking up, -saw her master watching Maclure wistfully, as one regards a man smitten -unto death. Drumsheugh realised in one moment that this was the doctor's -last winter; he had never seen him so easily managed all his life. -</p> -<p> -Leezabeth had kept house for Drumsheugh for many years, and was understood -to know him in all his ways. It used to be a point of interesting debate -which was the harder, but all agreed that they led the Glen in ingenious -economy and unfailing detection of irresponsible generosity. The -Kildrummie butcher in his irregular visits to the Glen got no support at -Drumsheugh, and the new lass that favoured the ploughmen with flowing -measure was superseded next milking time. -</p> -<p> -“That's yir pint, Jeems, naither mair nor less,” Leezabeth would say to -the “second man.” “Mary's hand shaks when there's lads aboot,” and -Drumsheugh heard the story with much appreciation in the evening. -</p> -<p> -She used to boast that there was “nae saft bit aboot the maister,” and of -all things Drumsheugh was supposed to be above sentiment. But Leezabeth -was amazed that evening at a curious gentleness of manner that softened -his very voice as he hung round the doctor. -</p> -<p> -“Drink it aff, Weelum,” holding the glass to his lips; “it 'ill start the -hert again; try an' rise, an' we 'ill gang ben the hoose noo... that's it, -ye're on yir legs again... that door's aye in the road... it's a dark -passage; gie's yir airm... it's awfu' hoo stiff a body gets sittin'.” - </p> -<p> -Leezabeth was ordered to bring such dainties as could be found, and she -heard Drumsheugh pressing things upon the doctor with solicitude. -</p> -<p> -“It's no richt tae gang that lang withoot meat, an' the nicht's sae cauld; -ye 'ill be fund on the road some mornin'. Try some o' thae black currants; -they're graund for a hoast. Ye're no surely dune already. -</p> -<p> -“Draw in yir chair tae the fire, Weelum; tak this ane; it wes ma mither's, -an' it's easier; ye need it aifter that ride. Are ye warm noo?” - </p> -<p> -“A'm rael comfortable an' content, Drumsheugh; it's a wee lonesome wast -yonder when a man comes in weet an' tired o' a nicht; juist tae sit aside -a freend, although nane o's say mickle, is a rest.” - </p> -<p> -“A' wush ye wud come aftener, Weelum,” said Drumsheugh hastily; “we 're no -as young as we were, an' we micht draw thegither mair. It's no speakin' -maks freends.... Hoo auld are ye noo?” - </p> -<p> -“Seeventy-three this month, an' a 'll no see anither birthday; ye 're -aulder, Drum”—Maclure only was so privileged—“but ye 're a -hale man an' gude for twal year yet.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye micht hae been the same yersel if ye hadna been a senseless fule an' -sae thrawn (obstinate) ye wudna be guided by onybody; but if ye gang -cautious ye 'ill live us a' oot yet; ye 're no like the same man noo 'at -cam in tae the kitchen. Leezabeth wes fleggit at the sicht o' ye,” and -Drumsheugh affected mirth. -</p> -<p> -“Wes she, though?” said Maclure, with some relish. “A've often thocht it -wud tak a chairge o' gunpooder tae pit Leezabeth aff her jundy (ordinary -course). Hoo lang hes she been wi' ye? A' mind her comin'; it wes aifter -yir mither deed; that 's a gude while past noo.” - </p> -<p> -“Five and thirty year last Martinmas; she 's a Kildrummie wumman, but a' -her fouk are dead. Leezabeth's been a faithfu' housekeeper, an' she's an -able wumman; a' ve nae-thing tae say against Leezabeth. -</p> -<p> -“She 's a graund manager,” continued Drumsheugh meditatively, “an' there's -no been mickle lost here since she cam; a 'll say that for her; she dis -her wark accordin' tae her licht, but it's aye scrapin' wi' her, and the -best o' hoosekeepers maks a cauld hame. -</p> -<p> -“Weelum—” and then he stopped, and roused the fire into a blaze. -</p> -<p> -“Ay, ay,” said Maclure, and he looked kindly at his friend, whose face was -averted. -</p> -<p> -“Wes ye gaein' tae say onything?” and Maclure waited, for a great -confidence was rare in Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -“There wes something happened in ma life lang syne nae man kens, an' a' -want tae tell ye, but no the nicht, for ye 're tired an' cast doon. Ye'ill -come in sune again, Weelum.” - </p> -<p> -“The mornin's nicht, gin it be possible,” and then both men were silent -for a space. -</p> -<p> -The wind came in gusts, roaring in the chimney, and dying away with a long -moan across the fields, while the snow-drift beat against the window. -Drumsheugh's dog, worn out with following his master through the drifts, -lay stretched before the fire sound asleep, but moved an ear at the -rattling of a door upstairs, or a sudden spark from the grate. -</p> -<p> -Drumsheugh gazed long into the red caverns and saw former things, till at -last he smiled and spake. -</p> -<p> -“Hoo langis't since ye guddled for troot, Weelum?” - </p> -<p> -“Saxty year or sae; div ye mind yon hole in the Sheuchie burn, whar it -comes doon frae the muir? They used to lie and feed in the rin o' the -water. -</p> -<p> -“A' wes passin' that wy lairst hairst, an' a' took a thocht and gied ower -tae the bank. The oak looks juist the same, an' a' keekit through, an' if -there wesna a troot ablow the big stane. If a' hedna been sae stiff a' wud -hae gien doon and tried ma luck again.” - </p> -<p> -“A' ken the hole fine, Weelum,” burst out Drumsheugh; “div ye mind where -a' catchit yon twa-punder in the dry simmer? it wes the biggest ever taen -oot o' the Sheuchie; a' telt ye a' next day at schule.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye did that, an' ye blew aboot that troot for the haie winter, but nane -o' us ever saw't, an' it wes juist a bare half pund tae begin wi'; it 's -been growin', a' doot; it 'ill be five afore ye 're dune wi't, Drum.” - </p> -<p> -“Nane o' yir impidence, Weelum. A' weighed it in Luckie Simpson's shop as -a' gied hame, an' it made twa pund as sure as a'm sitting here; but there -micht be a wecht left in the scale wi't.” - </p> -<p> -“Fishers are the biggest leears a' ever cam across, and ye've dune yir -best the nicht, Drum; but eh, man, guddlin' wes a graund ploy,” and the -doctor got excited. -</p> -<p> -“A' think a'm at it aince mair, wi' ma sleeves up tae the oxters, lying on -ma face, wi' naethin' but the een ower the edge o' the stane, an' slippin' -ma hands intae the caller water, an' the rush o' the troot, and grippin' -the soople slidderin' body o't an' throwin't ower yir head, wi' the red -spots glistening on its whlfe belly; it wes michty.” - </p> -<p> -“Ay, Weelum, an' even missin't wes worth while; tae feel it shoot atween -yir hands an' see it dash doon the burn, maltin' a white track in the -shallow water, an' ower a bit fall and oot o' sicht again in anither -hole.” - </p> -<p> -They rested for a minute to revel in the past, and in the fire the two -boys saw water running over gravel, and deep, cool holes beneath -overhanging rocks, and little waterfalls, and birch boughs dipping into -the pools, and speckled trout gleaming on the grass. -</p> -<p> -Maclure's face kindled into mirth, and he turned in his chair. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 're sayin' naethin' o' the day when the burn wes settlin' aifter a -spate, and ye cam tae me an' Sandy Baxter an' Netherton's brither Squinty, -an' temptit us tae play the truant, threepin' ye hed seen the troot juist -swarmin' in the holes.” - </p> -<p> -“A' tried John Baxter tae,” interrupted Drumsheugh, anxious for accuracy -since they had begun the story, “though he didna come. But he wudna tell -on's for a' that. Hillocks lat it oot at the sight o' the tawse. 'They 're -up the Sheuchie aifter the troot,' he roared, an' the verra lassies cried -'clype' (tell tale) at him gaein' hame.” - </p> -<p> -“What a day it wes, Drum; a' can see Sandie's heels in the air when he -coupit intae the black hole abune Gormack, an' you pullin' him oot by the -seat o' his breeks, an' his Latin Reader, 'at hed fa'en oot o' his pocket, -sailin' doon the water, an' 'Squinty' aifter it, scram-mellin' ower the -stanes;” and the doctor laughed aloud. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 've forgot hoo ye sent me in tae beg for a piece frae the gude wife at -Gormack, an' she saw the lave o' ye coorin' ahint the dyke, an' gied us a -flytin' for playin' truant.” - </p> -<p> -“Fient a bit o't,” and Maclure took up the running again; “an' then she -got a sicht o' Sandie like a drooned rat, and made him come in tae dry -himsel, and gied us pork an' oat cake. My plate hed a burn on it like the -Sheuchie—a' cud draw the pattern on a sheet o' paper till this day—that -wes Gormack's mither's; it's no sae lang since she deed; a' wes wi' her -the laist nicht.” - </p> -<p> -“An' the tawse next day frae the auld Dominie, him 'at wes afore Domsie; -he hed a fine swing. A' think a' feel the nip still,” and Drumsheugh -shuffled in his chair; “an' then we got anither lickin' frae oor faithers; -but, man,” slapping his knee, “it wes worth it a'; we 've never hed as -gude a day again.” - </p> -<p> -“It s juist like yesterday, Drum, but it cam tae an end; and div ye mind -hoo we were feared tae gae hame, and didna start till the sun wes weel -doon ahint Ben Urtach? -</p> -<p> -“Four o's,” resumed Maclure; “an' Sandie got a Russian bayonet through his -breist fech-tin' ae snawy nicht in the trenches, an' puir Squinty deed oot -in Ameriky wearyin' for the Glen an' wishin' he cud be buried in -Drumtochty kirkyaird. Fine laddies baith, an' that's twa o' the fower -truants that hae gane hame. -</p> -<p> -“You an' me, Drum, hed the farthest road tae traivel that nicht, an' we -'re the laist again; the sun's settin' for us tae; we 've hed a gude lang -day, and ye 'ill hae a whilie aifter me, but we maun follow the ither -twa.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're richt, Weelum, aboot the end o't, whichever gangs first,” said -Drumsheugh. -</p> -<p> -Another silence fell on the two men, and both looked steadfastly into the -fire, till the dog rose and laid his head on Drumsheugh's hand. He was -also getting old, and now had no other desire than to be with his master. -</p> -<p> -Drumsheugh moved his chair into the shadow, and sighed. -</p> -<p> -“It's no the same though, Weelum, it's no the same ava.... We did what we -sudna, an' wes feared tae meet oor faithers, nae doot, but we kent it wud -be waur oot on the cauld hill, an' there wes a house tae shelter 's at ony -rate.” - </p> -<p> -Maclure would not help, and Drumsheugh went on again as if every word were -drawn from him in agony. -</p> -<p> -“We dinna ken onything aboot...”—and he hesitated—“aboot... -the ither side. A 've thocht o't often in the gloamin' o' a simmer nicht, -or sittin' here alane by the fire in winter time; a man may seem naething -but an auld miserly fairmer, an' yet he may hae his ain thochts. -</p> -<p> -“When a' wes a laddie, the doctor's father wes in the poopit, an' Dominie -Cameron wes in the schule, an' yir father rode up an' doon the Glen, an' -they 're a' gane. A' can see at a time in kirk the face that used tae be -at the end of ilka seat, an' the bairns in the middle, an' the gude wife -at the top: there's no ane a' canna bring up when the doctor's at the -sermon. -</p> -<p> -“Wae's me, the auld fouk that were in Burnbrae, an' Hillocks, an' Whinny -Knowe are a' dead and buried, ma ain father an' mother wi' the lave, an' -their bairns are makin' ready tae follow them, an' sune the 'ill be -anither generation in oor places.” - </p> -<p> -He paused, but Maclure knew he had not finished. -</p> -<p> -“That's no the warst o't, for naebody wants tae live ower lang, till he be -cripple an' dottle (crazy.) A' wud raither gang as sune as a' cudna manage -masel, but... we hev nae word o' them. They've said gude-bye, and gane oot -o' the Glen, an' fouk say they 're in the land o' the leal. It 's a bonny -song, an' a' dinna like onybody tae see me when it's sung, but... wha kens -for certain... aboot that land?” - </p> -<p> -Still Maclure made no sign. -</p> -<p> -“The sun 'ill come up frae Strathmore, and set abune Glen Urtach, an' the -Tochty 'ill rin as it dis this nicht, an' the 'ill be fouk sowin' the seed -in spring and githerin' in the corn in hairst, an' a congregation in the -kirk, but we 'ill be awa an'... Weelum, wull that be... the end o' us?” - And there was such a tone in Drumsheugh's voice that the dog whined and -licked his hand. -</p> -<p> -“No, Drumsheugh, it 'ill no be the end,” said the doctor in a low, quiet -voice, that hardly sounded like his own. “A've often thocht it's mair like -the beginnin'. Oor forbears are oot o' sicht, an' a' wudna want tae hae -them back, but nae man 'ill ever gar me believe the kirkyaird hauds -Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, a've watched the Glen for mony a year, an' the maist hertsome -sicht a' hae seen is the makin' o' men an' weemen. They're juist -thochtless bairns tae begin wi', as we were oorsels, but they 're no dune -wi' schule aifter they leave Domsie. -</p> -<p> -“Wark comes first, and fechtin' awa wi' oor cauld land and wringin' eneuch -oot o't tae pay for rent and livin' pits smeddum (spirit) into a man. Syne -comes luve tae maist o's, an' teaches some selfish, shallow cratur tae -play the man for a wumman's sake; an' laist comes sorrow, that gars the -loudest o's tae haud his peace. -</p> -<p> -“It's a lang schulin', but it hes dune its wark weel in Drumtochty. A'm no -sayin' oor fouk are clever or that they haena fauts, but a'm prood to hev -been born and lived ma days in the Glen. A' dinna believe there's a leear -amang us—except maybe Milton, an' he cam frae Muirtown—nor a -cooard wha wudna mak his hand keep his head; nor a wastrel, when Charlie -Grant's in Ameriky; nor a hard-herted wratch 'at wudna help his neebur. -</p> -<p> -“It's a rouch schule the Glen, an' sae wes puir Domsie's; but, sall, he -sent oot lads 'at did us credit in the warld, an' a 'm judging Drumsheugh, -that the scholars that gied oot o' the Glen the ither road 'ill hae their -chance tae, an' pit naebody tae shame. Ye ken a' hevna hed muckle time for -releegion, but a body gies a thocht tae the ither warld at a time, an' -that's ma ain mind.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're maybe no far wrang, Weelum; it soonds wise like, but... ye canna be -sure.” - </p> -<p> -“A've seen fouk 'at were sure,” said the doctor, “an' a 'm thankfu' that -a' kent auld Burnbrae. He wes a strict man, an' mony a lecture he gied me -aboot gaein' tae kirk an' usin' better langidge, but a' tell ye, he wes -the richt sort; nae peetifu' chaff o' heepocrisy aboot him. -</p> -<p> -“A' wes wi' him at his deith,...” - </p> -<p> -“Did ye see onything?” Drumsheugh leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. -</p> -<p> -“A' saw naething but a gude man gaein' oot on his lang journey, an' a' -want tae see nae graunder sicht. -</p> -<p> -“He wesna conscious, an' his wife, puir wumman, wes murnin' that she wudna -get a last look, an' John, him 'at 's Burnbrae noo, wes distressed for his -mither's sake. -</p> -<p> -“'Say the name,' for a' wes holdin' his head, 'an' he 'ill hear;' but a' -cudna; it wesna for my tongue. -</p> -<p> -“So he said it into his father's ear, an' Burnbrae opened his eyes, and -githered them a' in a smile, an' a' heard twa words. -</p> -<p> -“'No evil.' He wes past sayin' fear.... Drumsheugh, a' wud... tak ma -chance the nicht wi' auld Burnbrae.” - </p> -<p> -“Ma mither didna ken us for the laist twa days,” and Drumsheugh rested his -head on his hands. -</p> -<p> -“Ye mind the bit lassiky”—Maclure would tell all when he was at it—“that -lived wi' Mary Robertson and Jamie Soutar made sic a wark aboot, for her -mither wes dead; she wes chokin' wi' her tribble, an' a' took her on ma -knee, for Daisy and me were aye. -</p> -<p> -“'Am a' gaein' tae dee the day?' she said, an' a' cud not tell a lee -lookin' intae yon een.' -</p> -<p> -“'Ye're no feared, dautie, 'a' said; 'ye 'ill sune be hame.' -</p> -<p> -“'Haud me ticht, then, Docksie '—that wes her name for me—' -an' mither 'ill tak me oot o' yir airms. '... The Almichty wud see the wee -lassie wesna pit tae shame, or else... that's no His name. -</p> -<p> -“The wind's doon,” and the doctor hurried over to the window, “an' the -mune is shinin' clear an' sweet; a 'll need tae be aff, an' a 'll hae the -licht instead o' the drift aifter a', Drumsheugh.” - </p> -<p> -Nothing passed between them till they came to the main road, and the -doctor said goodnight. -</p> -<p> -Then Drumsheugh stood close in to the saddle, and adjusted a stirrup -leather. -</p> -<p> -“You an' me are no like Burnbrae and the bairnie, Weelum; a'm feared at -times aboot... the home comin'.” - </p> -<p> -“A' dinna wunner, Drumsheugh, a'm often the same masel; we 're baith -truant laddies, chief, and maybe we 'ill get oor paiks, an' it 'ill dae us -gude. But be that as it may, we maun juist risk it, an' a'm houpin' the -Almichty 'ill no be waur tae us than oor mither when the sun gaes doon and -the nicht wind sweeps ower the hill.” - </p> -<p> -When Leezabeth brought word that Dr. Mac-lure had ridden into the “close,” - Drumsheugh knew for what end he had come, but it was characteristic of -Drumtochty that after they had exhausted local affairs, he should be -stricken dumb and stare into the fire with averted face. For a space the -doctor sat silent, because we respected one another's souls in the Glen, -and understood the agony of serious speech, but at last he judged it right -to give assistance. -</p> -<p> -“Ye said laist nicht that ye hed something tae say.” - </p> -<p> -“A'm comin' tae't; juist gie me twa meenuts mair.” But it was ten before -Drumsheugh opened his mouth, although he arranged himself in his chair and -made as though he would speak three times. -</p> -<p> -“Weelum,” he said at last, and then he stopped, for his courage had -failed. -</p> -<p> -“A 'm hearin', Drum; tak yir ain time; the fire 's needin' mendin',” and -the light, blazing up suddenly, showed another Drumsheugh than was known -on Muirtown market. -</p> -<p> -“It's no easy, Weelum, tae say onything that gangs deeper than the weather -an' cattle beasts.” Drumsheugh passed his hand across his forehead, and -Maclure's pity was stirred. -</p> -<p> -“Gin ye hae dune onything wrang, an' ye want tae relieve yir mind, ye may -lippen tae me, Drumsheugh, though it titch yir life. A' can haud ma -tongue, an' a 'm a leal man. -</p> -<p> -“A' thocht it wesna that,” as Drumsheugh shook his head; “a'm jidgin' that -ye hae a sorrow the Glen disna ken, and wud like an auld freend tae feel -the wecht o't wi' ye.” - </p> -<p> -Drumsheugh looked as if that was nearer the mark, but still he was silent. -</p> -<p> -“A', ken what ye're feelin' for a' cudna speak masel,” and then he added, -at the sight of his friend's face, “Dinna gar yirsel speak against yir -wull. We 'ill say naethin' mair aboot it.... Did ye hear o' Hillocks -coupin' intae the drift till there wes naethin' seen but his heels, and -Gormack sayin', 'Whar are ye aff tae noo, Hillocks?'” - </p> -<p> -“A' maun speak,” burst out Drumsheugh; “a've carried ma tribble for mair -than thirty year, and cud hae borne it till the end, but ae thing a' canna -stand, an' that is, that aither you or me dee afore a've cleared ma name.” - </p> -<p> -“Yir name?” and the doctor regarded Drumsheugh with amazement. -</p> -<p> -“Ay, ma character; a've naethin' else, Weelum, naither wife nor bairns, so -a'm jealous o't, though fouk michtna think it. -</p> -<p> -“Noo, gin onybody in Muirtown askit ma certeeficat o' a Drumtochty neebur, -gie me his answer,” and Drumsheugh turned suddenly on Maclure, who was -much confused. -</p> -<p> -“Nae Drumtochty man wud say ony ill o' ye; he daurna, for ye've gien him -nae occasion, an' ye surely ken that yirsel withoot askin'.” But -Drumsheugh was still waiting. -</p> -<p> -“He micht say that ye were juist a wee,” and then he broke off, “but what -need ye care for the havers of a market? fouk 'ill hae their joke.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye said a wee; what is't, Weelum?” and the doctor saw there was to be no -escape. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, they micht maybe sayin' behind yir back, Drum, what some o' them -wud say tae yir face, meanin' nae evil, ye ken, that ye were... carefu', -in fact, an'... keen aboot the bawbees. Naethin' mair nor worse than that, -as a 'm sittin' here.” - </p> -<p> -“Naethin' mair, said ye?” Drumsheugh spoke with much bitterness—“an' -is yon little? -</p> -<p> -“Carefu';' ye 've a gude-hearted man, Weelum; miser's nearer it, a 'm -dootin', a wratch that 'ill hae the laist penny in a bargain, and no spend -a saxpence gin he can keep it.” - </p> -<p> -Maclure saw it was not a time to speak. -</p> -<p> -“They 've hed mony a lauch in the train ower ma tigs wi' the dealers, an' -some o' them wud hae like tae hev cam aff as weel—a cratur like -Milton; but what dis Burnbrae, 'at coonted his verra livin' less than his -principles, or auld Domsie, that's dead an' gane noo, 'at wud hae spent -his laist shillin' sendin' a laddie tae the College—he gied it tae -me aince het, like the man he wes—or the minister, wha wud dee -raither than condescend tae a meanness, or what can... Marget Hoo think o' -me?” and the wail in Drumsheugh's voice went to the heart of Maclure. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna tak on like this, Drum; it's waesome tae hear ye, an' it 's clean -havers ye 're speakin' the nicht. Didna Domsie get mony a note frae ye for -his college laddies?—a 've heard him on't—an' it wes you 'at -paid Geordie Hoo's fees, an' wha wes't brocht Sir George an' savit Annie -Mitchell's life—?” - </p> -<p> -“That didna cost me muckle in the end, sin' it wes your daein' an' no -mine; an' as for the bit fees for the puir scholars, they were naethin' -ava. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, Weelum, it 'ill no dae. A' ken the hert o' ye weel, and ye 'ill -stan' by yir freend through fair and foul; but a'm gaein' tae clear things -up aince for a'; a 'll never gang through this again. -</p> -<p> -“It's no the Glen a'm thinkin' aboot the nicht; a' wud like tae hae their -gude opinion, an' a 'm no what they 're considerin' me, but a' canna gie -them the facts o' the case, an'... a' maun juist dee as a' hev lived. -</p> -<p> -“What cuts me tae the hert is that the twa fouk a' luve sud hae reason to -jidge me a miser; ane o' them wull never ken her mistake, but a 'll pit -masel richt wi' the ither. Weelum, for what div ye think a've been -scrapin' for a' thae years?” - </p> -<p> -“Weel, gin ye wull hae ma mind,” said the doctor slowly, “a' believed ye -hed been crossed in luve, for ye telt me as much yersel....” - </p> -<p> -“Ye 're richt, Weelum; a 'll tell ye mair the nicht; gang on.” - </p> -<p> -“It cam tae ma mind that ye turned tae bargainin' an' savin', no for greed—a' -kent there wes nae greed in ye; div ye suppose a' cudna tell the differ -atween ma freend an' Milton?—but for a troke tae keep yir mind -aff... aff yir sorrow.” - </p> -<p> -“Thank ye, Weelum, thank ye kindly, but it wesna even on accoont o' that -a've lived barer than ony plooman for the best part o' ma life; a' tell -ye, beyond the stockin' on ma fairm a'm no worth twa hunder pund this -nicht. -</p> -<p> -“It wes for anither a' githered, an' as fast as I got the gear a' gied it -awa,” and Drumsheugh sprang to his feet, his eyes shining; “it wes for -luve's sake a' haggled an' schemed an' stairved an' toiled till a've been -a byword at kirk and market for nearness; a' did it a' an' bore it a' for -ma luve, an' for... ma luve a' wud hae dune ten times mair. -</p> -<p> -“Did ye ken wha it wes, Weelum?” - </p> -<p> -“Ye never mentioned her name, but a' jaloosed, an' there's nane like her -in the Glen—” - </p> -<p> -“No, nor in braid Scotland for me! She 'ill aye be the bonniest as weel as -the noblest o' weemen in ma een till they be stickit in deith. But ye -never saw Marget in her bloom, when the blossom wes on the tree, for a' -mind ye were awa in Edinburgh thae years, learning yir business. -</p> -<p> -“A' left the schule afore she cam, an' the first time a' ever kent Marget -richt wes the day she settled wi' her mither in the cottar's hoose on -Drumsheugh, an' she 's hed ma hert sin' that 'oor. -</p> -<p> -“It wesna her winsome face nor her gentle ways that drew me, Weelum; it -wes... her soul, the gudeness 'at lookit oot on the warld through yon grey -een, sae serious, thochtfu', kindly. -</p> -<p> -“Nae man cud say a rouch word or hae a ill thocht in her presence; she -made ye better juist tae hear her speak an' stan' aside her at the wark. -'A' hardly ever spoke tae her for the three year she wes wi's, an' a said -na word o' luve. A' houpit some day tae win her, an' a' wes mair than -content tae hae her near me. Thae years were bitter tae me aifterwards, -but, man, a' wudna be withoot them noo; they 're a' the time a' ever hed -wi' Marget. -</p> -<p> -“A'm a-wearyin' ye, Weelum, wi' what can be little mair than havers tae -anither man.” But at the look on the doctor's face, he added, “A 'll tell -ye a' then, an'... a 'll never mention her name again. Ye 're the only man -ever heard me say 'Marget' like this. -</p> -<p> -“Weelum, a' wes a man thae days, an' thochts cam tae me 'at gared the hert -leap in ma breist, and ma blude rin like the Tochty in spate. When a' -drave the scythe through the corn in hairst, and Marget lifted the gowden -swathe ahint me, a' said, 'This is hoo a 'll toil an' fecht for her a' the -days o' oor life an' when she gied me the sheaves at the mill for the -threshin', 'This is hoo she 'ill bring a' guid things tae ma hame.' -</p> -<p> -“Aince her hand touched mine—a' see a withered forget-me-not among -the aits this meenut—an'... that wes the only time a' ever hed her -hand in mine... a' hoddit the floor, an', Weelum, a' hev it tae this day. -</p> -<p> -“There's a stile on the road tae the hill, an' a hawthorn-trec at the side -o 't; it wes there she met ae sweet simmer evenin', when the corn wes -turnin' yellow, an' telt me they wud be leavin' their hoose at Martinmas. -Her face hed a licht on it a' hed never seen. 'A 'm tae be marriet,' she -said, 'tae William Howe. -</p> -<p> -“Puir lad, puir lad, aifter a' yir houps; did ye lat her ken?” - </p> -<p> -“Na, na; it wes ower late, an' wud only hae vexed her. Howe and her hed -been bairns thegither, an' a 've heard he wes kind tae her father when he -wes sober (weakly), an' so... he got her hert. A' cudna hae changed her, -but a' micht hae made her meeserable. -</p> -<p> -“A' leaned ower that stile for twa lang oors. Mony a time a 've been there -sin' then, by nicht and day. Hoo the Glen wud lauch, for a 'm no the man -they see. A' saw the sun gae doon that nicht, an' a' felt the darkness fa' -on me, an' a' kent the licht hed gane oot o' ma life for ever.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye carried yersel like a man, though,” and the doctor's voice was full of -pride, “but ye 've hed a sair battle, Drum, an' nae man tae say weel -dune.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna speak that wy, Weelum, for a 'm no say gude as ye 're thinkin'; -frae that oor tae Geordie's illness a never spak ae word o' kindness tae -Marget, an' gin hatred wud hae killed him, she wud hae lost her -bridegroom. -</p> -<p> -“Gude forgie me,” and the drops stood on Drumsheugh's forehead. “When Hoo -cudna pay, and he wes tae be turned oot of Whinnie Knowe, a' lauched tae -masel, though there isna a kinder, simpler heart in the Glen than puir -Whinnie's. There maun be some truth in thae auld stories aboot a deevil; -he hed an awfu' grup o' me the end o' that year. -</p> -<p> -“But a' never hatit her; a' think a've luvit her mair every year; and when -a' thocht o' her trachlin' in some bit hoosie as a plooman's wife, wha wes -fit for a castle, ma hert wes melted. -</p> -<p> -“Gin she hed gien me her luve, wha never knew a' wantit it, a' wud hae -spilt ma blude afore ye felt care, an' though ye sees me naethin' but a -cankered, contrackit, auld carle this day, a' wud hae made her happy -aince, Weelum. A' wes different when a' wes young,” and Drumsheugh -appealed to his friend. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna misca' yersel tae me, Drum; it's nae use,” said the doctor, with a -shaky voice. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, it wesna tae be,” resumed Drumsheugh after a little; “a' cudna be -her man, but it seemed tae me ae day that a' micht work for Marget a' the -same, an' naebody wud ken. So a' gied intae Muirtown an' got a writer—” - </p> -<p> -The doctor sprang to his feet in such excitement as was hardly known in -Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -“What a fule ye 've made o' the Glen, Drumsheugh, and what a heepocrite ye -'ve been. It wes you then that sent hame the money frae Ameriky 'at -cleared Whinnie's feet and set Marget and him up bien (plentiful) like on -their merrid,” and then Maclure could do the rest for himself without -assistance. -</p> -<p> -“It wud be you tae 'at started Whinnie again aifter the Pleuro took his -cattle, for he wes aye an unlucky wratch, an' if it wesna you that deed -oot in New York and sa vit him five years ago, when the stupid body pit -his name tae Piggie's bill. It's you 'at wes Whinnie's far-awa' cousin, -wha hed gotten rich and sent hame help through the lawyer, an' naebody -suspeckit onything. -</p> -<p> -“Drumsheugh”—and the doctor, who had been finding the room too small -for him, came to a halt opposite his friend—“ye 're the maist -accomplished leear 'at 's ever been born in Drumtochty, an'... the best -man a' ever saw. Eh, Drum,” and Maclure's voice sank, “hoo little we kent -ye. It's an awfu' peety Domsie didna hear o' this afore he slippit awa'; -a' can see him straichtenin' himsel at the story. Jamie Soutar 'ill be -michty when he gets a haudo't....” - </p> -<p> -Twice Drumsheugh had tried to interrupt Maclure and failed, but now he -brought his hand down upon the table. -</p> -<p> -“Wud ye daur, Weelum, tae mention ae word a' hae telt ye ootside this -room? gin a' thocht he wes the man-” And Drumsheugh's face was blazing. -</p> -<p> -“Quiet, man, quiet! Ye ken a' wudna with-oot yir wull; but juist ae man, -Jamie Soutar. Ye 'ill lat me share 't wi' Jamie.” - </p> -<p> -“No even Jamie; an' a'm ashamed tae hae telt yersel, for it looks like -boastin'; an' aifter a' it wes a bit o' comfort tae me in ma cauldrife -life. -</p> -<p> -“It's been a gey lang trial, Weelum; ye canna think what it wes tae see -her sittin' in the kirk ilka Sabbath wi' her man, tae follow her face in -the Psalms, tae catch her een in the Saicrament, an' tae ken that a' never -wud say 'Marget' tae her in luve. -</p> -<p> -“For thirty year an' mair a 've studied her, an' seen her broon hair that -wes like gowd in the sunlight turn grey, and care score lines on her face, -b'it every year she 's comelier in ma een. -</p> -<p> -“Whinnie telt us his tribble aboot the bill in the kirkyard, an' a' saw -the marks o 't in her look. There wes a tear ran doon her cheek in the -prayer, an' a'... cud hae grat wi' her, an' then ma hert loupit wi' joy, -for a' thocht there 'll be nae tear next Sabbath. -</p> -<p> -“Whinnie got the siller frae his... cousin, ye ken, through the week, an' -settled his debt on Friday. A' met him on the street, an' made him buy a -silk goon for Marget:... a' gied wi' him tae choose it, for he's little -jidgment, Whinnie.” - </p> -<p> -“A' wes in the train that day masel,” broke in the doctor, “an' a' mind -Hillocks daffin' wi' ye that nae wumman cud get a goon oot o' you. Sic -fuies an' waur.” - </p> -<p> -“A' didna mind that, no ae straw, Weelum, for Marget wes ten year younger -next Sabbath, an' she wore ma goon on the Saicrament. A' kent what bocht -it, an' that was eneuch for me. -</p> -<p> -“It didna maitter what the Glen said, but ae thing gied tae ma hert, an' -thet wes Marget's thocht o' me... but a' daurna clear masel. -</p> -<p> -“We were stannin' thegither ae Sabbath”—Drumsheugh spoke as one -giving a painful memory, on which he had often brooded—“an' gaein' -ower the market, an' Hillocks says, 'A' dinna ken the man or wumman 'at -'ill get a bawbee oot o' you, Drumsheugh. Ye 're the hardest lad in ten -parishes.' -</p> -<p> -“Marget passed that meenut tae the kirk, an'... a' saw her look. Na, it -wesna scorn, nor peety; it wes sorrow.... This wes a bien hoose in the -auld day when she wes on the fairm, an' she wes wae tae see sic a change -in me. A' hed tae borrow the money through the lawyer, ye ken, an' it wes -a fecht payin' it wi' interest. Aye, but it wes a pleesure tae, a' that -a'll ever hev, Weelum....” - </p> -<p> -“Did ye never want tae... tell her?” and the doctor looked curiously at -Drumsheugh. -</p> -<p> -“Juist aince, Weelum, in her gairden, an' the day Geordie deed. Marget -thankit me for the college fees and bit expenses a' hed paid. 'A father -cudna hae been kinder tae ma laddie,' she said, an' she laid her hand on -ma airm. 'Ye 're a gude man, a' see it clear this day, an'... ma hert -is... warm tae ye,' A' ran oot o' the gairden. A' micht hae broken doon. -Oh, gin Geordie hed been ma ain laddie an' Marget... ma wife.” - </p> -<p> -Maclure waited a little, and then he quietly left, but first he laid his -hand on his friend's shoulder to show that he understood. -</p> -<p> -After he had gone, Drumsheugh opened his desk and took out a withered -flower. He pressed it twice to his lips, and each time he said Marget with -a sob that rent his heart. It was the forget-me-not. -</p> -<h3> -III.—DRUMSHEUGH'S REWARD -</h3> -<p> -People tell us that if you commit a secret to a dweller in the city, and -exact pledges of faithfulness, the confidence will be proclaimed on the -housetops within twenty-four hours, and yet, that no charge of treachery -can be brought against your friend. He has simply succumbed to the -conflict between the habit of free trade in speech and the sudden embargo -on one article. Secret was engraved on his face and oozed from the skirts -of his garments, so that every conversational detective saw at a glance -that the man was carrying treasure, and seized it at his will. -</p> -<p> -When one told a secret thing to his neighbour in Drumtochty, it did not -make a ripple on the hearer's face, and it disappeared as into a deep -well. “Ay, ay” was absolutely necessary as an assurance of attention, and -the farthest expression of surprise did not go beyond, “That wesna -chancy.” Whether a Drumrecesses of his mind, no one can tell, but when -Jamie Soutar, after an hour's silence, one evening withdrew his pipe and -said “Sall” with marked emphasis, it occurred to me that he may have been -digesting an event. Perhaps the law of silence was never broken except -once, but that was on a royal scale, when William Maclure indirectly let -out the romance of Drumsheugh's love to Marget Howe, and afterwards was -forgiven by his friend. -</p> -<p> -Marget had come to visit the doctor about a month before he died, bearing -gifts, and after a while their conversation turned to George. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna speak aboot ma traivellin' tae see ye,” Marget said; “there's no a -body in the Glen but is behaddit tae ye, an' a' can never forget what ye -did for ma laddie yon lang summer-time.” - </p> -<p> -“A' did naethin,' an' nae man can dae muckle in that waesome tribble. It -aye taks the cleverest laddies an' the bonniest lassies; but a' never hed -a heavier hert than when a' saw tochty man ever turned over secrets in the -Geordie's face that aifternoon. There's ane fechtin' decline.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye mak ower little o' yir help, doctor; it wes you 'at savit him frae -pain an' keepit his mind clear. Withoot you he cudna workit on tae the end -or seen his freends. A' the Glen cam up tae speir for him, and say a -cheery word tae their scholar. -</p> -<p> -“Did a' ever tell ye that Posty wud gang roond a gude half mile oot o' his -road gin he hed a letter for Geordie juist tae pit it in his hands himsel? -and Posty 's a better man sin then; but wha div ye think wes kindest -aifter Domsie an' yersel?” - </p> -<p> -“Wha wes't?” but Maclure lifted his head, as if he had already heard the -name. -</p> -<p> -“Ay, ye 're richt,” answering the look of his friend, “Drumsheugh it wes, -an' a' that simmer he wes sae gentle and thochtfu' the Glen wudna hae kent -him in oor gairden. -</p> -<p> -“Ye've seen him there yersel, but wud ye believe't, he cam three times a -week, and never empty-handed. Ae day it wud be some tasty bit frae -Muirtown tae gar Geordie eat, another it wud be a buke the laddie had -wantit tae buy at College, an' a month afore Geordie left us, if -Drumsheugh didna come up ae Saturday wi' a parcel he had gotten a' the way -frae London. -</p> -<p> -“'Whatna place is this, Geordie?' an' he taks aff the cover an' holds up -the picture. It wud hae dune ye gude tae hae seen the licht in the -laddie's een. 'Athens,' he cried, an' then he reached oot his white hand -tae Drumsheugh, but naethin' wes said. -</p> -<p> -“They were at it the hale forenoon, Geordie showin' the Temple the Greeks -set up tae Wisdom, an' the theatre in the shadow of the hill whar the -Greek prophets preached their sermons; an' as a' gied oot an' in, Geordie -wud read a bonnie bit, and Domsie himsel cudna hae been mair interested -than Drumsheugh. The deein' scholar an' the auld fairmer....” - </p> -<p> -“Ay, ay,” said Maclure.. -</p> -<p> -“Ae story Geordie telt me never ran dry wi' Drumsheugh, an' he aye askit -tae hear it as a treat till the laddie grew ower sober—aboot twa -lovers in the auld days, that were divided by an airm o' the sea, whar the -water ran in a constant spate, and the lad hed tae sweem across tae see -his lass. She held a licht on high tae guide him, an' at the sicht o't he -cared naethin' for the danger; but ae nicht the cauld, peetiless water -gied ower his head, and her torch burned oot. Puir faithfu' lass, she -flung hersel into the black flood, and deith jined them where there's nae -partin'.” - </p> -<p> -“He likit that, did he?” said Maclure, with a tone in his voice, and -looking at Marget curiously. -</p> -<p> -“Best o' a' the ancient things George gied him in the gairden, an' ae day -he nearly grat, but it wesna for their deith. -</p> -<p> -“'Na, na,' he said tae George, 'a' coont him happy, for he hed a reward -for the black crossin'; laddie, mony a man wud be wullin' tae dee gin he -wes luved. What think ye o' a man fechtin' through the ford a' his life -wi' nae kindly licht?' -</p> -<p> -“Geordie wes wae for him, an' telt me in the gloamin', an' it set me -thinkin'. Cud it be that puir Drumsheugh micht hae luved an' been refused, -an' naebody kent o't? Nane but the Almichty sees the sorrow in ilka hert, -an' them 'at suffers maist says least. -</p> -<p> -“It cam tae me that he must hae luved, for he wes that conseederate wi' -Geordie, sae wum-manlike in his manner wi' the pillows and shawls, sae -wilie in findin' oot what wud please the laddie; he learned yon in anither -place than Muirtown Market. Did ye... ever hear onything, doctor? It 's no -for clashin' (gossip) a' wud ask, but for peety an' his gudeness tae ma -bairn.” - </p> -<p> -“Is't likely he wud tell ony man, even though he be his freend?” and -Maclure fenced bravely, “did ye hear naethin' in the auld days when ye wes -on Drumsheugh?” - </p> -<p> -“No a whisper; he wes never in the mooth o' the Glen, an' he wesna the -same then; he wes quiet and couthy, ceevil tae a' the workin' fouk; there -wes nae meanness in Drumsheugh in thae days. A've often thocht nae man in -a' the Glen wud hae made a better husband tae some gude wumman than that -Drumsheugh. It passes me hoo he turned sae hard and near for thirty years. -But dinna ye think the rael Drumsheugh hes come oot again?” - </p> -<p> -The doctor seemed to be restraining speech. -</p> -<p> -“He's no an ordinary man, whatever the Glen may think,” and Marget seemed -to be meditating. “Noo he wudna enter the hoose, an' he wes that agitat -that aince when a' brocht him his tea he let the cup drop on the graivel. -Be sure there's twa fouk in every ane o 's—ae Drumsheugh 'at focht -wi' the dealers an' lived like a miser, an' anither that gied the money -for Tammas Mitchell's wife an' nursit ma laddie.” - </p> -<p> -Maclure would have been sadly tried in any case, but it was only a week -ago Drumsheugh had made his confession. Besides, he was near the end, and -his heart was jealous for his friend. It seemed the worse treachery to be -silent. -</p> -<p> -“There 's juist ae Drumsheugh, Marget Hoo, as ye 're a leevin' wumman, him -ye saw in the gairden, wha wud hae denied himsel a meal o' meat tae get -thae pictures for yir... for Geordie. -</p> -<p> -“The Glen disna ken Drumsheugh, and never wull this side o' the grave,” - and the doctor's voice was ringing with passion, and something like tears -were in his eyes; “but gin there be a jidgment an'... books be opened, the -'ill be ane for Drumtochty, and the bravest page in it 'ill be -Drumsheugh's. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 're astonished, an' it's nae wunder”—for the look in Marget's -grey eyes demanded more—“but what a' say is true. It hes never been -for himsel he's pinched an' bargained; it wes for... for a freend he -wantit tae help, an' that wes aye in tribble. He thocht 'at it micht... -hurt his freend's feelin's and pit him tae shame in his pairish gin it -were kent, so he took the shame himsel. A' daurna tell ye mair, for it wud -be brakin' bonds at ween man and man, but ye 've herd eneuch tae clear -Drumsheugh's name wi' ae wumman.” - </p> -<p> -“Mair than cleared, doctor,” and Marget's face glowed, “far mair, for ye -'ve shown me that the Sermon on the Mount is no a dead letter the day, an' -ye 've lifted the clood frae a gude man. Noo a'll juist hae the rael -Drumsheugh, Geordie's Drumsheugh,” and again Marget thanked Maclure -afresh. -</p> -<p> -For the moment the heroism of the deed had carried her away, but as she -went home the pity of it all came over her. For the best part of his life -had this man been toiling and suffering, all that another might have -comfort, and all this travail without the recompense of love. What -patience, humility, tenderness, sacrifice lay in unsuspected people. How -long?... Perhaps thirty years, and no one knew, and no one said, “Well -done!” He had veiled his good deeds well, and accepted many a jest that -must have cut him to the quick. Marget's heart began to warm to this -unassuming man as it had not done even by George's chair. -</p> -<p> -The footpath from the doctor's to Whinnie Knowe passed along the front of -the hill above the farm of Drumsheugh, and Marget came to the cottage -where she had lived with her mother in the former time. It was empty, and -she went into the kitchen. How home-like it had been in those days, and -warm, even in winter, for Drumsheugh had made the wright board over the -roof and put in new windows. Her mother was never weary speaking of his -kindness, yet they were only working people. The snow had drifted down the -wide chimney and lay in a heap on the hearth, and Marget shivered. The -sorrow of life came upon her—the mother and the son now lying in the -kirkyard. Then the blood rushed to her heart again, for love endures and -triumphs. But sorrow without love... her thoughts returned to Drumsheugh, -whose hearthstone was cold indeed. She was now looking down on his home, -set in the midst of the snow. Its cheerlessness appealed to her—the -grey sombre house where this man, with his wealth of love, lived alone. -Was not that Drumsheugh himself crossing the laigh field, a black figure -on the snow, with his dog behind him... going home where there was none to -welcome him... thinking, perhaps, what might have been?... Suddenly Marget -stopped and opened a gate.... Why should he not have company for once in -his lonely life... if the woman he loved had been hard to him, why should -not one woman whom he had not loved take her place for one half hour? -</p> -<p> -When Drumsheugh came round the corner of the farmhouse, looking old and -sad, Marget was waiting, and was amazed at the swift change upon him. -</p> -<p> -“Ye didna expect me,” she said, coming to meet him with the rare smile -that lingered round the sweet curves of her lips, “an' maybe it 's a -leeberty a'm takin'; but ye ken kindness breaks a' barriers, an' for the -sake o' Geordie a' cudna pass yir hoose this nicht withoot tellin' that ye -were in ma hert.” - </p> -<p> -Drumsheugh had not one word to say, but he took her hand in both of his -for an instant, and then, instead of going in by the kitchen, as all -visitors were brought, save only the minister and Lord Kilspindie, he led -Marget round to the front door with much ceremony. It was only in the -lobby he found his tongue, and still he hesitated, as one overcome by some -great occasion. -</p> -<p> -“Ye sud be in the parlour, Marget Hoo, but there 's no been a fire there -for mony a year; wull ye come intae ma ain bit room?... A' wud like tae -see ye there,” and Marget saw that he was trembling, as he placed her in a -chair before the fire. -</p> -<p> -“Ye were aince in this room,” he said, and now he was looking at her -wistfully; “div ye mind? it's lang syne.” - </p> -<p> -“It wes when a' cam' tae pay oor rent afore we flitted, and ye hed tae -seek for change, an' a' thocht ye were angry at oor leavin'.” - </p> -<p> -“No angry, na, na, a' wesna angry... it took me half an oor tae find some -siller, an' a' the time ye were sittin' in that verra chair... that wes -the Martinmas ma mither deed... ye 'ill no leave withoot yir tea.” - </p> -<p> -After he had gone to tell Leezbeth of his guest, Marget looked round the -room, with its worn furniture, its bareness and its comfortlessness. This -was all he had to come to on a Friday night when he returned from market; -out and in here he would go till he died. One touch of tenderness there -was in the room, a portrait of his mother above the mantelpiece, and -Marget rose to look at it, for she had known her, a woman of deep and -silent affection. A letter was lying open below the picture, and this -title, printed in clear type at the head, caught Marget's eye: -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -“Macfarlane and Robertson, Writers, - -Kilspindie Buildings, Muirtown.” - </pre> -<p> -Marget's heart suddenly stood still, for it was the firm that sent the -seasonable remittances from Whinnie's cousin. This cousin had always been -a mystery to her, for Whinnie could tell little about him, and the writers -refused all information whatever, allowing them to suppose that he was in -America, and chose to give his aid without communication. It had occurred -to her that very likely he was afraid of them hanging on a rich relation, -and there were times when she was indignant and could not feel grateful -for this generosity. -</p> -<p> -Other times she had longed to send a letter in her name and Whinnie's, -telling him how his gifts had lightened their life and kept them in peace -and honesty at Whinnie Knowe; but the lawyers had discouraged the idea, -and she had feared to press it. -</p> -<p> -What if this had all been a make-believe, and there had been no cousin... -and it had been Drumsheugh who had done it all.... Was this the object of -all his sacrifice... to keep a roof above their heads... and she had heard -him miscalled for a miser and said nothing... how could she look him in -the face... she was sure of it, although there was no proof.... A grey -light had been gathering all the afternoon in her mind, and now the sun -had risen, and everything was light. -</p> -<p> -Any moment he might come in, and she must know for certain; but it was -Leezbeth that entered to lay the tea, looking harder than ever, and -evidently seeing no call for this outbreak of hospitality. -</p> -<p> -“The maister's gaen upstairs tae clean him-sel,” said the housekeeper, -with a suggestion of contempt. “A' saw naethin' wrang wi' him masel,” But -Leezbeth was not one that could move Marget to anger at any time, and now -she was waiting for the sight of Drumsheugh's face. -</p> -<p> -He came in twenty years younger than she had seen him in that dreary -field, and, speaking to her as if she had been the Countess of -Kil-spindie, asked her to pour out the tea. -</p> -<p> -“Drumsheugh,” and he started at the note of earnestness, “before a' sit -doon at yir table there's ae question a' have tae ask an' ye maun answer. -Ye may think me a forward wumman, an' ma question may seem like madness, -but it's come intae ma mind, an a 'll hae nae rest till it 's settled.” - </p> -<p> -Marget's courage was near the failing, for it struck her how little she -had to go on, and how wild was her idea; but it was too late to retreat, -and she also saw the terror on his face. -</p> -<p> -Drumsheugh stood silent, his eyes fixed on her face, and his hand -tightened on the back of a chair. -</p> -<p> -“Is't you—are ye the freend 'at hes helped ma man an' me through a' -oor tribbles?” - </p> -<p> -Had he been prepared for the ordeal, or had she opened with a preface, he -would have escaped somehow, but all his wiles were vain before Marget's -eyes. -</p> -<p> -“Ye were wi' William Maclure,” and Drumsheugh's voice quivered with -passion, “an' he telt ye. A 'll never forgie him, no, never, nor speak ae -word tae him again, though he be ma dearest freend.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna blame Doctor Maclure, for a' he did wes in faithfulness an' luve,” - and Marget told him how she had made her discovery; “but why sud ye be -angry that the fouk ye blessed at a sair cost can thank ye face tae face?” - Marget caught something about “a pund or twa,” but it was not easy to -hear, for Drumsheugh had gone over to the fireplace and turned away his -face. -</p> -<p> -“Mony punds; but that's the least o 't; it's what ye suffered for them a' -thae years o' savin', and what ye did wi' them, a'm rememberin'. Weelum -micht never hev hed a hoose for me, an' a' micht never hev hed ma man, an' -he micht gaen oot o' Whinnie Knowe and been broken-herted this day hed it -no been for you. -</p> -<p> -“Sic kindness as this hes never been kent in the Glen, an' yet we 're nae -blude tae you, no mair than onybody in the pairish. Ye 'ill lat me thank -ye for ma man an' Geordie an' masel, an' ye 'ill tell me hoo ye ever -thocht o' showin' us sic favour.” Marget moved over to Drumsheugh and laid -her hand on him in entreaty. He lifted his head and looked her in the -face. -</p> -<p> -“Marget!” and then she understood. He saw the red flow all over her face -and fade away again, and the tears fill her eyes and run down her cheeks, -before she looked at him steadily, and spoke in a low voice that was very -sweet. -</p> -<p> -“A' never dreamed o' this, an' a 'm not worthy o' sic luve, whereof I hev -hed much fruit an' ye hev only pain.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're wrang, Marget, for the joy hes gien ower the pain, an' a 've hed -the greater gain. Luve roosed me tae wark an' fecht, wha micht hae been a -ne'er-dae-weel. Luve savit me frae greed o' siller an' a hard hert. Luve -kept me clean in thocht an' deed, for it was ever Marget by nicht an' day. -If a'm a man the day, ye did it, though ye micht never hae kent it. It's -little a' did for ye, but ye 've dune a'thing for me... Marget.” - </p> -<p> -After a moment he went on: -</p> -<p> -“Twenty year ago a' cudna hae spoken wi' ye safely, nor taken yir man's -hand withoot a grudge; but there's nae sin in ma luve this day, and a' -wudna be ashamed though yir man heard me say, 'A' luve ye, Marget.'” - </p> -<p> -He took her hand and made as though he would have lifted it to his lips, -but as he bent she kissed him on the forehead. “This,” she said, “for yir -great and faithfu' luve.” - </p> -<p> -They talked of many things at tea, with joy running over Drumsheugh's -heart; and then spoke of Geordie all the way across the moor, on which the -moon was shining. They parted at the edge, where Marget could see the -lights of home, and Drumsheugh caught the sorrow of her face, for him that -had to go back alone to an empty house. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna peety me, Marget; a've hed ma reward, an' a'm mair than content.” - </p> -<p> -On reaching home, he opened the family Bible at a place that was marked, -and this was what he read to himself: “They which shall be accounted -worthy... neither marry nor are given in marriage... but are as the angels -of God in heaven.” - </p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -PAST REDEMPTION -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>e had called him Posty so long that Jamie Soutar declared our postman had -forgotten the sound of his own name, and had once refused a letter -addressed to himself. This was merely Jamie's humour, for Posty held his -legal designation in jealous remembrance, and used it for the confusion of -pride with much effect. -</p> -<p> -When Milton, in whom Pharisaism had reached the point of genius, dealt -faithfully with Posty at New Year time on his personal habits, and -explained that he could not give him money lest he should waste it in -strong drink—offering him instead a small volume of an improving -character—Posty fell back on his reserves. -</p> -<p> -“Ma name,” he said, eyeing Milton sternly, and giving each syllable its -just weight, “is Aircheebald MacKittrick; an' gin ye hae ony complaint -against me for neglect o' duty, ye can lodge it wi' the -Postmaister-General, speecifyin' parteeclars, sic as late arrival or -omittin' tae deliver, an' a'll hae the sateesfaction o' cairryin' yer -letter pairt o' the way tae its desteenation. -</p> -<p> -“A 've ma, public capaucity as an officer of the Crown”—Posty was -now master of the situation and grew more awful every moment—“an' -there a'm open tae creeticism. In ma private capaucity as a free-born -Scot, the Queen hersel' has nae business tae interfere wi' me. Whether a' -prefer speerits or limejuice for ma tastin' “—Milton had once -deceived Posty with the latter seductive fluid—“whether a' mairry ae -wife or three”—Milton's third nuptials were still fresh in the Glen—“is -a maitter for a man's ain deceesion. -</p> -<p> -“As regairds the bookie,” and Posty held its cheap covers between his -thumb and forefinger, “ye'ill excuse me. Jamie Soutar gied me a lend o' -his <i>French Revolution</i>, an' a'm juist warstlin' thro' wi't. A hev -'na muckle time for readin', an' Tammas Carlyle's a stiff body, but his -buiks are graund feedin'. Besides”—and now Posty gave the <i>coup de -grace</i>—“thae re-leegious bookies hae nae logic for an able-bodied -man, an' the laist ane ye gied me was louse in doctrine, juist stinkin' -wi' Armeenianism.” - </p> -<p> -Posty was understood to hold an impregnable position with the head of his -department, and it was boasted in the Glen that he had carried the mails -from Drumtochty to Pitscourie—thirteen miles—and back, every -day, excluding Sabbaths, for eight-and-twenty years. It was also believed -that he had only been late twice, when the Scourie burn carried away the -bridge, and Posty had to go four miles up stream to find a crossing-place, -and the day when he struck his head against a stone, negotiating a drift, -and lay insensible for three hours. -</p> -<p> -At five o'clock to a minute Posty appeared every morning in the village -shop, which had accumulated during the night a blended fragrance of tea -and sugar, and candles and Mac-dougall's sheep dip, and where Mrs. Robb, -our postmistress, received Posty in a negligent undress sanctioned by -official business and a spotless widowhood. -</p> -<p> -“That's frae the shooting lodge tae his Lordship. It 'ill be aboot the -white hares;” and Mrs. Robb began to review the letters with unfailing -accuracy. “Ye can aye ken Drumsheugh's hand; he's after some siller frae -Piggie Walker. Piggie trickit him aince; he 'ill no dae't again. 'Miss -Howieson.' Ma word! Jean's no blate tae pit that afore her lassie's name, -and her a servant-lass, tho' a 'm no sayin' 'at she disna deserve it, -sendin' her mother a post-office order the beginnin' o' ilka month, -riglar. 'The Worshipful Chief Bummer of the Sons of Temperance Reform.' -Michty, what a title! That's what they ca' that haverin' body frae the -sooth Archie Moncur hed up lecturin' laist winter on teetotalism. Ye were -terribly affeckit yersel, Posty, a' heard”—to which sally the -immovable face gave no sign. -</p> -<p> -“And here's ane tae auld Maister Yellowlees, o' Kildrummie, askin' him tae -the fast a'm jalousin'. Sall, the Free Kirk fouk 'ill no bless their -minister for his choice. Div ye mind the diveesions o' his laist sermon -here on the sparrows, Posty?” - </p> -<p> -“'We shall consider at length'”—the voice seemed to proceed from a -graven image—“'the natural history of the sparrow; next we shall -compare the value of sparrow in ancient and modern times; and lastly, we -shall apply the foregoing truth to the spiritual condition of two -classes.'” - </p> -<p> -“That 's it tae a word. It was michty, an' Donald Menzies threipit that he -heard the deil lauchin' in the kirk. Weel, that's a', Posty, an' an -Advertiser frae Burnbrae tae his son in the Black Watch. He 'ill be hame -sune juist covered wi' medals. A' doot there 's been mair snow thro' the -nicht. It 'ill be heavy traivellin'.” - </p> -<p> -The light of the oil-lamp fell on Posty as he buckled his bag, and threw -his figure into relief against a background of boxes and barrels. -</p> -<p> -A tall man even for Drumtochty, standing six feet three in his boots, who, -being only a walking skeleton, ought to have weighed some twelve stone, -but with the bone and breadth of him turned the scale at fifteen. His hair -was a fiery red, and his bare, hard-featured face two shades darker. No -one had ever caught a trace of the inner man on Posty's face, save once -and for an instant—when he jumped into Kelpie's hole to save a wee -lassie. Elspeth Macfadyen said afterwards “his eyes were graund.” He wore -the regulation cap on the back of his head, and as no post-office jacket -was big enough to meet on Posty's chest, he looped it with string over a -knitted waistcoat. One winter he amazed the Glen by appearing in a -waterproof cape, which a humanitarian official had provided for country -postmen, but returned after a week to his former estate, declaring that -such luxuries were unhealthy and certain to undermine the constitution. -His watch was the size of a small turnip, and gave the authorised time to -the district, although Posty was always denouncing it for a tendency to -lose a minute in the course of summer, an irregularity he used to trace -back to a thunderstorm in his grandfather's time. His equipment was -completed by an oaken stick, which the smith shod afresh every third year, -and which Posty would suddenly swing over his head as he went along. It -was supposed that at these times he had settled a point of doctrine. -</p> -<p> -Mrs. Robb started him with a score of letters, and the rest he gathered as -he went. The upper Glen had a box with a lock, at the cross roads, and the -theory was that each farm had one key and Posty his own. Every key except -Posty's had been lost long ago, and the box stood open to the light, but -Posty always made a vain attempt to sneck the door, and solemnly dropped -the letters through the slit. Some farms had hidie holes in the dyke, -which Posty could find in the darkest morning; and Hillocks, through sheer -force of custom, deposited his correspondence, as his father had done -before him, at the root of an ancient beech. Persons handing Posty letters -considered it polite to hint at their contents, and any information about -our exiles was considered Posty 's due. He was hardly ever known to make -any remark, and a stranger would have said that he did not hear, but it -was noticed that he carried the letters to Whinnie Knowe himself during -George's illness, and there is no doubt that he was quite excited the day -he brought the tidings of Professor Ross's recovery. -</p> -<p> -He only became really fluent after he had been tasting, for which -facilities were provided at five points on his route, and then he gave -himself to theology, in which, from a technical point of view, he could -hold his own with any man in the Glen except Lachlan Campbell and Jamie -Soutar, As he could not always find another theologian when he was in this -mood he used to walk the faster as a relief to his feelings, and then rest -quietly by the roadside for half an hour, wrapt in meditation. You might -have set your watch by his rising when he went on his way like a man whose -mind was now at ease. -</p> -<p> -His face was so unconscious and unsuspicious during these brief retreats -that it arrested a well-doing tramp one day and exposed him to -misconstruction. It seemed to him, as he explained afterwards to our -policeman, that Posty might have fainted, and he felt it his duty to take -charge of the mail-bag, which its guardian utilised to fill up the hollow -of his back. Very gently did the tramp loosen the strap and extricate the -bag. He was rising from his knees when a big red hand gripped his arm, and -Posty regarded the tree above his head with profound interest. -</p> -<p> -“A 'm obleeged tae ye,” a voice began, “for yir thochtfu' attention, an' -the care ye took no tae disturb me. Ye 'ill be a resident in the Glen, a -'m coontin', an' wantin' yir letters,” and Posty rose with great -deliberation and refastened the strap. -</p> -<p> -“A' canna mind yir face for the moment, but maybe ye 've veesitin' yir -freends. Dinna gang awa till a' find yir letter; it micht hae money in 't, -an' it 's plain ye 've needin't. -</p> -<p> -“Surely ye didna mean tae assault a puir helpless cratur,” continued -Posty, picking up his stick and laying hold of the tramp by his rags, “an' -rob him o' Her Majesty's mails? Div ye ken that wud be highway robbery wi' -aggravations, and, man, ye micht be hanged and quartered. -</p> -<p> -“Ye wud never misconduct yirsel like that, but some o' yir freends micht, -an' a' wud like tae send them a bit message.... Lord's sake, dinna yowl -like that, or the neeburs 'ill think a'm hurtin' ye.” - </p> -<p> -Two hours later the tramp was found behind a hedge anointing his sores -with butter, and using language which Posty, as a religious man, would -have heard with profound regret. -</p> -<p> -When this incident came to Doctor Davidson's ears, he took a strong view, -and spoke with such frankness and with such a wealth of family -illustration, that Posty was much edified and grew eloquent. -</p> -<p> -“Say awa, doctor, for it's a' true, an' ye 're daein' yir duty as a -minister faithfu' an' weel. A'm greatly obleeged tae ye, an' a 'll no -forget yir warnin'. Na, na, it 'ill sink. -</p> -<p> -“Ye'ill no be angry, though, or think me liteegious gin a' pint oot a -difference atween me an' ma brither that ye was neeburin' wi' me in the -maitter o' tastin'. -</p> -<p> -“A 'ill no deny that a' tak ma mornin', and maybe a forenoon, wi' a drap -down at Pitscoourie after ma dinner, and juist a moothfu' at Luckie -Macpherson's comin' thro' Netheraird, and a body needs something afore he -gaes tae bed, but that's ma ordinar' leemit. -</p> -<p> -“Noo, Jock is juist in an' oot drammin' frae mornin' tae nicht, baith in -Drumtochty an' Muirtown, and that's bad for the constitution, tae sae -naethin' o' morals. -</p> -<p> -“Forbye that, doctor, if Jock crosses the line, he gets veecious ower -politics or the catechism, an' he 'll fecht like a gude ane; but gin a'm -juist a wee overcom'—a've never been intoxicat' like thae puir, -regairdless, toon waufies—a' sit doon for half-an'-oor hummilled an' -reflect on the dispensations o' Providence.” - </p> -<p> -Posty had, in fact, three moods: the positive, when he was a man of few -words; the comparative, when he was cheerful and gave himself to the -discussion of doctrine; and the superlative, when he had been tasting -freely and retired for meditation. -</p> -<p> -As the years passed, and Posty established himself in all hearts, the -philanthropy of the Glen came to a focus on his redemption, to Posty's -inward delight, and with results still fondly remembered. -</p> -<p> -Cunningham, the Free Church scholar and shyest of men, gave his mind to -Posty in the intervals of editing Sophocles, and after planning the -campaign for four months, allured that worthy into his study, and began -operations with much tact. -</p> -<p> -“Sit down, Posty, sit down, I'm very glad to see you, and... I wanted to -thank you for your attention... every one in the Glen must be satisfied -with... with your sense of official duty.” - </p> -<p> -“Thank ye, sir,” said Posty, in his dryest voice, anticipating exactly -what Cunningham was after, and fixing that unhappy man with a stony stare -that brought the perspiration to his forehead. -</p> -<p> -“There is one thing, however, that I wanted to say to you, and, Posty, you -will understand that it is a... little difficult to... in fact to -mention,” and Cunningham fumbled with some Greek proofs. -</p> -<p> -“What 's yir wull, sir?” inquired Posty, keeping Cunningham under his -relentless eye. -</p> -<p> -“Well, it 's simply,” and then Cunningham detected a new flavour in the -atmosphere, and concluded that Posty had been given into his hands, -“that... there 's a very strong smell of spirits in the room.” - </p> -<p> -“A' noticed that masel', sir, the meenut a' cam in, but a' didna like to -say onything aboot it,” and Posty regarded Cunningham with an expression -of sympathetic toleration. -</p> -<p> -“You don't mean to say,” and Cunningham was much agitated, “that you -think...” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna pit yirsel' aboot, sir,” said Posty, in a consoling voice, “or -suppose a' wud say a word ootside this room. Na, na, there 's times a 'm -the better o' a gless masel', an' it's no possible ye cud trachle through -the Greek with-oot a bit tonic; but ye 're safe wi' me,” said Posty, -departing at the right moment, and he kept his word. But Cunningham was so -scandalised that he let out the conversation, and the Glen was happy for a -month over it, for they loved both men, each in his own way. -</p> -<p> -When Jock MacKittrick died suddenly Cunningham expressed his sympathy with -Posty, and produced an unexpected impression on that self-contained man. -</p> -<p> -“It was only last evening that I saw you and your brother part in the -village; it must be a terrible blow to you.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye saw that?” broke in Posty; “then ye 're the only man in the Glen that -kens what a sore heart a'm cairryin' the day. Juist ablow the public -hoose, and he gaed up and a' gaed hame; it's a fact. -</p> -<p> -“The fouk are sayin' the day as a' cam alang the Glen, 'Ye 'ill miss Jock, -Posty, he slippit aff afore his time.' An' a juist gie them an, 'Ou, aye, -it maks a difference,' but they dinna ken ma secret; hooever did ye licht -on it? -</p> -<p> -“There's nae use denyin' 't that he said tae me, 'Ye'ill tak yir evenin', -Posty,' for Jock aye ca'd me that—he was prood o't bein' in the -faimily—an' gin ye ask me what cam ower me that a' sud hae refused -him a' canna tell. -</p> -<p> -“'Na, na, Jock,' a' said, 'a 've hed eneuch the day, an' a'm gaein' hame;' -he lookit at me, but a' wes dour, an' noo it 's ower late; a'll never -taste wi' Jock again.” And Posty's iron manner failed, and for once in his -life he was profoundly affected. -</p> -<p> -The last philanthropist who tried his hand on Posty before he died was -“the Colonel” as we called him—that fine hearty old warrior who -stayed with the Carnegies at the Lodge, and had come to grief over Jamie -Soutar at the evangelistic meeting. The Colonel was certain that he could -manage Posty, for he was great at what he called “button-holing,” and so -he had his second disaster, understanding neither Drumtochty nor Posty. -Being full of the simplest guile he joined Posty on the road and spun the -most delightful Indian yarns, which were all intended to show what -splendid fellows his soldiers were, and how they ruined themselves with -drink. Posty gave most patient attention and only, broke silence twice. -</p> -<p> -“Drinkin'—if ye are meanin' intoxication—is waur than a -failin', it 's a sin an' no a licht ane. Ye ken whar the drunkards gang -tae in the end, but dinna let me interrupt ye.” - </p> -<p> -Later he inquired anxiously where the Colonel's regiment had been -recruited, and was much relieved by the answer. -</p> -<p> -“A' wes thinkin' they cudna be oor lads that lat the drink get the upper -hand; they sud be able tae tak their drappie cannily an' no mak fuies o' -themselves, but a 've heard that a gless or twa o' speerits 'ill turn -their heads in the sooth.” - </p> -<p> -When the Colonel, considerably damped by these preliminaries, came to -close grips, Posty took a stand. -</p> -<p> -“'Pledge' did ye say, Colonel; na, na, a' dauma hae onything tae dae wi' -sic devices, they 're naething else than vows, an' vows are aboleeshed in -this dispensation. The Catholics keep them up a'm informed, but a'm a -Protestant, an' ma conscience wudna alloo me tae sign. -</p> -<p> -“But a'm terribly pleased wi' yir stories, sir, an' they gar the time pass -fine, an' ye maunna be offended. Gin ye cud meet me the morn at the boonds -o' the pairish, a'm willin' tae argie the maitter o' vows up the Glen -juist tae shairp-en oor minds. -</p> -<p> -“As for the bit ribbon,” and Posty held it as if it carried infection, -“gin ye hed belanged tae Drumtochty ye wud hae kent nae man cud wear sic a -thing. Oor fouk hae an' awfu' sense o' humour; it 's sae deep they canna -lauch, but they wud juist look at the man wi' a ribbon on, an' as sure's -deith they wudna be weel for the rest o' the day. -</p> -<p> -“Besides, Colonel, a 'm suspeckin' that there's juist ae preceedent for -the ribbon in the Bible, that wes the Pharisees, when they made broad -their phylacteries, and a' ne 'er likit thae gentry.” - </p> -<p> -“Sall gin ilka man began tae pit his virtues on his coat, an' did it -honest, it wud be a show at kirk and market. Milton wud hae naethin' but -yir ribbon, an' Burnbrae, wha's the best man in the Glen, wudna hae room -on his Sabbath coat for his decorations,” and Posty chuckled inwardly to -the horror of the Colonel. -</p> -<p> -Three days afterwards the great tragedy happened, and no one needed again -to trouble himself about Posty. It was summer time, with thunder in the -air, and heavy black clouds above Glen Urtach. June was the month in which -Mrs. Macfadyen scoured her blankets, and as her burn was nearly dry, she -transferred her apparatus to the bank of the Tochty, where a pool below -the mill gave her a sure supply of water. Elspeth lit a fire beneath the -birches on the bank, and boiled the water. She plunged the blankets into a -huge tub, and kilting up her coats danced therein powerfully, with many a -direction to Elsie, her seven-year-old, to “see ye dinna fa' in, or ye 'll -be carried intae the Kelpie's Hole ablow, an' it 'll no be yir mither can -bring you oot.” - </p> -<p> -The sun was still shining brightly on the Glen, when the distant storm -burst on Ben Hornish, whose steep sides drain into the Urtach, that ends -in the Tochty. Down the Tochty came the first wave, three feet high, -bringing on its foaming yeasty waters branches of trees, two young lambs, -a stool from some cottage door, a shepherd's plaid, and all kinds of drift -from eddies that had been swept clean. Elspeth heard the roar, and lifted -her eyes to see Elsie, who had been playing too near the edge, swept away -into the pool beneath, that in less than a minute was a seething cauldron -of water that whirled round and round against the rocks before it rushed -down the bed of the river. -</p> -<p> -“Ma bairn! ma bairn! God hae mercy upon her!” and Elspeth's cry ran -through the bonnie birk wood and rose through the smiling sky to a God -that seemed to give no heed. -</p> -<p> -“Whar is she?” was all Posty asked, tearing off his coat and waistcoat, -for he had heard the cry as he was going to the mill, and took the lade at -a leap to lose no time. -</p> -<p> -“Yonder, Posty, but ye...” - </p> -<p> -He was already in the depths, while the mother hung over the edge of the -merciless flood. It seemed an hour—it was not actually a minute—before -he appeared, with the blood pouring from a gash on his forehead, and hung -for a few seconds on a rock for air. -</p> -<p> -“Come oot, Posty, ye hae a wife and bairns, an' ye 'll be drooned for -Elspeth was a brave-hearted, unselfish woman. -</p> -<p> -“A'll hae Elsie first,” and down he went again, where the torrent raged -against the rocks. -</p> -<p> -This time he came up at once, with Elsie, a poor little bundle, in his -arms. -</p> -<p> -“Tak' her quick,” he gasped, clinging with one hand to a jagged point. -</p> -<p> -And Elspeth had no sooner gripped Elsie by her frock than Posty flung up -his arms, and was whirled down the river, now running like a mill-race, -and Elspeth fancied she saw him turning over and over, for he seemed to be -insensible. -</p> -<p> -Within an hour they found his body down below the Lodge with many wounds -on it, besides that gash, and they knew at once that he had been dashed to -death against the stones. -</p> -<p> -They carried him to the Lodge—the Colonel insisted on being a bearer—and -for two hours by the clock they did their best for Posty. -</p> -<p> -“It 's no a drop o' water 'ill droon Posty,” said Jamie Soutar, “and that -his ain Tochty, an' as for a clout (blow) on the head, what's that tae a -man like Posty! he 'll be on the road the mornin'.” But Jamie spoke with -the fierce assurance of a man that fears the worst and is afraid of -breaking down. -</p> -<p> -“The water hes been ower muckle for him aifter a',” our cynic said to -Archie Moncur, who had long striven to make a teetotaller of Posty, as -they went home together, “tho' he didna give in tae the end.” - </p> -<p> -“A' doot a' wes a wee hard on him, Jamie”—Archie had the tenderest -heart in the Glen and was much loved—“but there wes nae man a' -like't better.” - </p> -<p> -“Yer tongue wes naithin' tae mine, Airchie, when a' yoke't on him, but he -bore nae ill will, did Posty, he had an awfu' respeck for ye an' aye spoke -o' ye as his freend.” - </p> -<p> -“Sae a' wes—wha wudna be—he hed a true heart hed Posty, and -nae jukery-packery (trickery) aboot him.” - </p> -<p> -“An' a graund heid tae,” went on Jamie; “there wes naebody in the Glen cud -meet him in theology, except maybe Lachlan, and did ye ever hear him say -an ill word aboot ony body?” - </p> -<p> -“Never, Jamie, an' there wes naebody he wesna interested in; the -black-edged letters aye burned his fingers—he hated tae deliver -them. He wes abody's freend wes Posty,” went on Archie, “an' naebody's -enemy.” - </p> -<p> -“He deed like a man,” concluded Jamie; “there 's juist anither consolation—the -lassie 's comin' roond fine.” - </p> -<p> -When the new Free Kirk minister was settled in Drumtochty, Jamie told him -the story on the road one day and put him to the test. -</p> -<p> -“What think ye, sir, becam' o' Posty on the ither side?” and Jamie fixed -his eyes on Carmichael. -</p> -<p> -The minister's face grew still whiter. -</p> -<p> -“Did ye ever read what shall be done to any man that hurts one of God's -bairns?” - </p> -<p> -“Fine,” answered Jamie, with relish, “a millstane aboot his neck, an' -intae the depths o' the sea.” - </p> -<p> -“Then, it seems to me that it must be well with Posty, who went into the -depths and brought a bairn up at the cost of his life,” and Carmichael -added softly, “whose angel doth continually behold the face of the -Father.” - </p> -<p> -“Yir hand, sir,” said Jamie, and when the great heresy trial began at -Muirtown, Jamie prophesied Carmichael's triumphant acquittal, declaring -him a theologian of the first order. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -GOOD NEWS FROM A FAR COUNTRY -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ARROW circumstances and high spirit drove forth some half-dozen young men -and women from the Glen every year, to earn their living in the cities of -the South. They carried with them, as a working capital, sound education, -unflagging industry, absolute integrity, and an undying attachment to -Drumtochty. Their one necessary luxury was a weekly copy of the <i>Muirtown -Advertiser</i>, which four servant lasses would share between them and -circulate at church doors, carefully wrapt in a page of some common daily, -and their one hour of unmixed enjoyment its careful perusal, column by -column, from the first word to the last. It would have been foolishness to -omit the advertisements, for you might have missed the name of Drumsheugh -in connection with a sale of stirks; and although at home no Drumtochty -person allowed himself to take an interest in the affairs of Kildrummie or -Netheraird, yet the very names of neighbouring parishes sounded kindly at -the distance of Glasgow. One paragraph was kept for the last, and read -from six to twelve times, because it was headed Drumtochty, and gave an -account of the annual ploughing match, or the school examination, or the -flower show, or a winter lecture, when Jamie Soutar had proposed the vote -of thanks. Poor little news and names hard of pronunciation-; but the girl -sitting alone by the kitchen fire—her fellow servants gone to bed—or -the settler in the far Northwest—for he also got his <i>Advertiser</i> -after long delays—felt the caller air blowing down the Glen, and saw -the sun shining on the Tochty below the mill, and went up between the -pinks and moss-roses to the dear old door—ah me! the click of the -garden gate—and heard again the sound of the Hundredth Psalm in the -parish kirk. -</p> -<p> -If one wished to take a complete census of our people in Glasgow, he had -only to attend when Doctor Davidson preached on the fast day, and make his -way afterwards to the vestry door. -</p> -<p> -“There's a gude puckle fouk waitin' tae see ye, sir,” the city beadle -would say to the doctor, with much ceremony; “a'm judgin' they 're frae -yir ain pairish. Is it yir wull they be admitted?” - </p> -<p> -Then in they came, craftsmen in stone and iron, clerks in offices and -students from the University, housemaids and working men's wives, without -distinction of persons, having spent the last ten minutes in exchanging -news and magnifying the sermon. The doctor gave a Christian name to each, -and some personal message from the Glen, while they, in turn, did their -best to reduce his hand to pulp, and declared aloud that preaching like -his could not be got outside Drumtochty, to the huge delight of Bigheart, -minister of the church, who was also a Chaplain to the Queen and all -Scotland. -</p> -<p> -The Dispersion endured any sacrifice to visit the old Glen, and made their -appearance from various places, at regular intervals, like Jews coming up -to Jerusalem. An exile was careful to arrive at Muirtown Station on a -Friday afternoon, so that he might join the Drumtochty contingent on their -way home from market. It is not to be supposed, however, that there was -any demonstration when he showed himself on the familiar platform where -Drumtochty men compared notes with other parishes at the doors of the -Dunleith train. -</p> -<p> -“Is that you, Robert? ye 'ill be gaein' wast the nicht,” was the only -indication Hillocks would give before the general public that he had -recognised young Netherton after three years' absence, and then he would -complete his judgment on the potato crop as if nothing had happened. -</p> -<p> -“Ye're there, aifter a', man; a' wes feared the sooth train micht be -late,” was all the length even Netherton's paternal feelings would carry -him for the time; “did ye see that yir box wes pit in the van?” and the -father and son might travel in different compartments to the Junction. -Drumtochty retained still some reticence, and did not conduct its emotions -in public, but it had a heart. When the van of the Dunleith train had -cleared the Junction and Drumtochty was left to itself—for -Kildrummie did not really count—it was as when winter melts into -spring. -</p> -<p> -“Hoo are ye, Robert, hoo are ye? gied tae see ye,” Drumsheugh would say, -examining the transformed figure from head to foot; “man, a' wud hardly -hae kent ye. Come awa an' gie 's yir news,” and the head of the -commonwealth led the way to our third with Robert, Drumtochty closing in -behind. -</p> -<p> -Preliminaries were disposed of in the run to Kildrummie, and as the little -company made their way through the pine woods, and down one side of the -Glen, and over the Tochty bridge, and up the other slope to the parting of -the ways, Robert was straitly questioned about the magnitude of the work -he did in Glasgow, and the customs of the people, and the wellbeing of -every single Drumtochty person in that city, and chiefly as to the sermons -he had heard, their texts and treatment. On Sabbath the group at the kirk -door would open up at Robert's approach, but he would only nod in a -shamefaced way to his friends and pass on; for it was our etiquette that -instead of remaining to gossip, a son should on such occasions go in with -his mother and sit beside her in the pew, who on her part would mistake -the psalm that he might find it for her, and pay such elaborate attention -to the sermon that every one knew she was thinking only of her son. -</p> -<p> -If a Drumtochty man distinguished himself in the great world, then the -Glen invested his people with vicarious honour, and gathered greedily -every scrap of news. Piggie Walker himself, although only an associate of -the parish by marriage and many transactions, would not have visited David -Ross in the Upper Glen, with a view to potatoes, without inquiring for -David's son the Professor; and after the sale was effected that astute man -would settle down with genuine delight to hear the last letter, dated from -a Colonial University and containing an account of the Professor's new -discovery. -</p> -<p> -It was Piggie that asked for the letter; David would not have offered to -read it for a year's rent. Drumtochty parents with promising sons lived in -terror lest secret pride should give them away and they be accused behind -their backs of “blawing,” which in a weaker speech is translated boasting. -</p> -<p> -David considered, with justice, that they ought to take special care, and -tried to guide his wife with discretion. -</p> -<p> -“We maun be cannie wi' John's title, wum-man, for ye ken Professor is a -by-ordinar' word; a' coont it equal tae Earl at the verra least; an' it -wudna dae tae be aye usin' 't. -</p> -<p> -“Ye micht say't aince in a conversation, juist lettin' it slip oot by -accident this wy, the Professor wes sayin' in his laist letter—a' -mean, oor son in Australy'—but a' wud ca' him John at ither times. -Pride's an awfu' mischief, Meg.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye 're as prood as a'm masel, David, and there's nae use ye scoldin' at -me for giein' oor laddie the honour he won wi' his brain an' wark,” and -the mother flared up. “A'm no feared what the neeburs say. Professor he -is, an' Professor a 'll ca' him; ye 'ill maybe be sayin' Jock next, tae -show ye 're humble.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna tak me up sae shairp, gude wife, or think a' wud mak little o' -John; but the Al-michty hesna gien ilka faimily a Professor, an' a'm no -wantin' tae hurt oor neeburs, an' them sae ta'en up wi' him themsels. Ye -micht read his laist letter again, wumman; there's a bit a've near -forgotten.” - </p> -<p> -Meg went to the drawers where she kept the clothes he wore as a boy, and -the silk dress he gave her when he received his great appointment, and the -copies of his books bound in morocco, which he sent home with this -inscription: -</p> -<p> -“To my Father and Mother. -</p> -<p> -“From the Author;” and every scrap of paper about him and from him she had -ever received. -</p> -<p> -The letter is taken from an old stocking, and, as she pretends to some -difficulty in finding the place, Meg is obliged to read it for the -forty-ninth time throughout from the name of the University at the head to -the signature: -</p> -<p> -“Heart's love to you both from -</p> -<p> -“Your ever affectionate son, -</p> -<p> -“John Ross.” - </p> -<p> -David makes as though he had missed a word now and again in order to -prolong the pleasure. -</p> -<p> -It was not hard to tell that he had such a letter in his pocket on the -'Sabbath, for the kirkyard was very cunning in its sympathy. -</p> -<p> -“Hoo's the Professor keepin' when ye heard laist, Bogleigh?” Drumsheugh -would say, skilfully leading up to the one subject, and careful to give -David his territorial designation, although it was a very small farm -indeed, “he 'ill send a scrape o' the pen at a time, a 'm ex-peckin', gin -he hes a meenut tae spare.” - </p> -<p> -“Busy or no busy,” answers Bogleigh, “he maks time tae write hame. His -mither hes hed a letter frae John aince a week withoot fail sin he left -Bogleigh a laddie o' saxteen for Edinburgh. -</p> -<p> -“They 're no juist twa or three lines, aither, but sax an' aught sheets,” - continued David, warming. “An' the names, they cowe a'thing for length an' -leamin'. Wud ye believe it, the Professor tells his mither every article -he writes, and a' the wark he dis. -</p> -<p> -“He wes tellin's laist letter aboot some graund discovery he's feenished, -an' they 're threatenin' tae gie him a new title for't. A'm no juist sure -what it means, but it disna maitter, gin the laddie dis his duty and keep -his health,” and David affected to close the subject. “It's fell warm the -day.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye 'll no hae that letter on ye, Bogie?” inquired Jamie Soutar anxiously. -“Gin ye cud pit yir hand on't, the neeburs wud like tae hear whatna honour -the Professor's gotten.” - </p> -<p> -“Na, na, Jamie, it disna dae for a body tae be deavin' (deafening) the -countryside wi' clavers aboot his bairns; if it hedna been Drumsheugh -speirin' for John a' wudna hae said a word, but a'm muckle obleeged, and -sae is the laddie, for a' mind hoo he wrote, 'My respects to the -neighbours on Sabbath.'” - </p> -<p> -“That wes rael handsome,” began Whinnie, much impressed by “respects,” - “but a' mind the Professor was aye a douce—” - </p> -<p> -“Div ye think, Bogleigh, that the Professor belongs tae yersel noo an' the -gude wife,” broke in Jamie, “juist as if he were some ordinar' man? Na, -na; gin a laddie gaes up frae the Glen tae the University, an' comes oot -at the tap o' his classes, bringin' hame three medals ilka spring, an' -opens secret things in nature that naebody kent afore, an' is selected by -Government tae foond places o' learnin' ayont the sea, that laddie belangs -tae Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mind the day his life wes in the London <i>Times</i>, and -Drumsheugh read it at the Junction? 'This eminent man of science was born -at Drumtochty in Perthshire, and received his early education at the -parish school.'” - </p> -<p> -“Ye hae't tae a word, Jamie,” said Drumsheugh, and passed his box, in name -of the Glen, as it were, to Domsie. -</p> -<p> -“Oor standin' measure,” concluded Jamie, “leavin' oot Airchie Moncur and -masel, will rin tae aboot sax feet, but a' coontit that we gaed up the -hill that nicht wi' fower inches a man tae spare. Whar 's that letter, -Bogleigh?” - </p> -<p> -After a feint of seeking it in his trousers, where he was as likely to -carry it as the family Bible, David produced it from an inner breast -pocket, wrapped in newspaper, and handed it to Domsie without a word. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye want me tae read it?”—as if this had not been the -schoolmaster's due. “Weel, weel, a 'll dae ma best,” and then Domsie laid -himself out to do justice to the Professor's letter, while Drumtochty -wagged its head in admiration. -</p> -<p> -“Fellow of the Royal Society,” and Domsie became solemn to the height of -reverence; “this cowes a'thing. A'm credibly informed that this is the -highest honour given tae leam-in' in oor land; a 'ill be boond the 'll no -be anither F.R.S. in sax coonties; may be no mair than twa or three in -braid Scotland.” - </p> -<p> -“It's the graundest thing the Glen's dune yet,” and Jamie took up the -strain; “he 's M.A. already, an' some ither letters; ye cudna rin them -ower?” - </p> -<p> -Then Domsie gave John Ross's degrees one by one. “That comes tae five, -makin' nae mention o' ither honours; there's thirty-one degrees in the -Glen the noo, and John heads the list, if a' micht call a Professor by a -laddie's name.” - </p> -<p> -“Wha hes a better richt?” said the father, with much spirit; “ye laid the -foondation o't a', an' he often said that himsel.” - </p> -<p> -Opinion differed whether David or Domsie looked prouder in kirk that day, -but Jamie inclined to Domsie, whom he had detected counting the degrees -over again during the chapter. -</p> -<p> -Four Sundays after David appeared in the kirkyard with such woe upon his -face that Drumsheugh could only imagine one reason, and omitted -preliminaries. -</p> -<p> -“Naethin' wrang wi' the Professor, Bogleigh?” and Domsie held his pinch in -mid air. -</p> -<p> -“John wes deein' when this letter left, an' noo he 'ill maybe... be dead -an' buried... his mither an' me were ower prood o' him, but ye ken hoo... -gude,” and the old man broke down utterly. -</p> -<p> -They looked helplessly at one another, averting their gaze from the -Professors father, and then Drumsheugh took hold of the situation. -</p> -<p> -“This is no lichtsome, Dauvid, an' the neeburs share yir tribble, but -dinna gie up houp and then Drumsheugh read the letter from Australia, -while Hillocks and Whinnie, turning their backs on David, sheltered his -grief from public view. -</p> -<p> -“Dear Mr. Ross,—You will have noticed that the last letter from my -friend Dr. Ross was written in a feeble hand. He was laid down about three -weeks ago with what has turned out to be typhoid fever, and ought not to -have seen paper. But we considered the case a mild one, and he was -determined to send his usual letter home. Now the disease has taken a bad -turn, and he is quite delirious, mentioning his mother and his old -schoolmaster by turns, and thinking that he is again in Drumtochty. His -colleagues in medicine are consulting twice a day about him, and -everything will be done for one we all admire and love. But he is very -low, and I think it right to prepare you for what may be bad news.—Believe -me, with much respect, yours faithfully, -</p> -<p> -“Frederick St. Clair.” - </p> -<p> -“A 've seen a mair cheerfu' letter,” and Drumsheugh looked at the fathers -from above his spectacles; “but it micht be waur. A 'll guarantee the -Professor 's no as far through wi 't as Saunders, an' yonder he is alive -and livin' like,” nodding in the direction where that brawny man propped -up the gable of the kirk with his shoulders and maintained a massive -silence with Tammas Mitchell. -</p> -<p> -“Nae doot, nae doot,” said Hillocks, deriving just encouragement from the -study of Saunders's figure; “aifter the wy Weelum Maclure brocht Saunders -through a' wud houp for the best gin a' wes Bogleigh.” - </p> -<p> -“Sae a' wud, neeburs,” and David came forth again, “gin we hed oor laddie -at hame an' oor ain man tae guide him. But there's nae Weelum Maclure oot -yonder—naebody but strangers.” - </p> -<p> -“We micht ask the doctor tae pit up a prayer,” suggested Hillocks; “it -cudna dae ony mischief, an' it's aye a comfort.” - </p> -<p> -“He daurna dae't,” cried David, whose mind was quickened by grief; “it -'ill be a' ower lang syne, an' it 's no lawfu' tae pray for... the dead.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna be feared, Bogie,” said Jamie; “the doctor'ill tak the -responsibeelity himsel, and ye may be sure he 'ill get some road oot o' -the wood. It wud be a puir kirk the day gin we cudna plead wi' the -Almichty for oor Professor.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye hae the word, Jamie,” said Drumsheugh, “an' a 'll gang in an' tell the -doctor masel;” but Whinnie confessed afterwards that he thought this -prayer beyond even the doctor. -</p> -<p> -It followed the petition for the harvest, and this was how it ran—the -Free Kirk people had it word for word by Monday— -</p> -<p> -“Remember, we beseech Thee, most merciful Father, a father and mother who -wait with anxious hearts for tidings of their only son, and grant that, -before this week be over, Thy servant who is charged with many messages to -this parish may bring to them good news from a far country.” - </p> -<p> -“Didna a' tell ye?” triumphed Jamie, going down to the gate, while Posty, -who had required the whole length of the sermon to recognise himself, -departed, much lifted, declaring aloud: -</p> -<p> -“The 'll be nae black edge in the bag next Friday, or a'm no postman o' -Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -Letters for Bogleigh were left about two o'clock in a box on the main road -two miles distant, and brought up by the scholars in the evening; but it -was agreed early in the week that David and his wife should go down and -receive the letter from Posty's own hands on Friday. In order not to be -late, Meg rose at four that morning—but indeed she need not have -gone to bed—and by eight o'clock was afraid they might be late. -Three times she took out and rearranged her treasures, and three times -broke down utterly, because she would never see her laddie again. They -followed Posty from his start outwards, and were comforted about eleven -with the thought that he was on the return journey. -</p> -<p> -“He's fairly aff for hame noo, wumman,” David would say, “an' wheepin' -through Neth-eraird; he's no mair than ten mile awa, a'll warrant, an' -he's a terrible walker.” - </p> -<p> -“He 'ill surely no be tastin' at the Netheraird public-hoose, Dauvid, an' -loiterin'; a've kent him no be at the box till half three.” - </p> -<p> -“Na, na, there's nae fear o' Posty the day; a'll be boond he's savin' -every meenut; ye mind hoo prood he wes tae bring the letter wi' the -Professor's appintment.” - </p> -<p> -“Isn't it michty tae think we 're pittin' aff the time here,” and Meg -began to get ready, “when he's maybe in the pairish already?” - </p> -<p> -It was exactly a quarter past twelve when the two old people sat down in -the shadow of the firs above the box to wait for the first sight of Posty. -</p> -<p> -“A' daurna meet him, Dauvid, aifter a',” she said; “we 'ill juist watch -him pit the letter in, and slip doon when he's gane, an'... oh! but a' ken -what it 'ill be.” - </p> -<p> -“A'm expeckin tae hear John's on the mend masel,” said David manfully, and -he set himself to fortify his wife with Saunders's case and the doctor's -prayer, till she lifted her head again and watched. -</p> -<p> -A summer wind passed over the pines, the wood-pigeons cooed above their -heads, rabbits ran out and in beside them, the burn below made a pleasant -sound, a sense of the Divine Love descended on their hearts. -</p> -<p> -“The Aimichty,” whispered Meg, “'ill surely no tak awa oor only bairn... -an' him dune sae weel... an' sae gude a son... A' wes coontin' on him -comin' hame next year... an' seein' him aince mair... afore a' deed.” - </p> -<p> -A bread cart from Kildrummie lumbered along the road. Maclure passed on -Jess at a sharp trot. A company of tourists returning from Glen Urtach -sang “Will ye no come back again?” Donald Menzies also sang as he brought -a horse from the smiddy, but it was a psalm— -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -“I to the hills will lift my eyes, -From whence doth come mine aid.” - </pre> -<p> -“Can ye no see him yet, Dauvid? a' doot he 's hed an accident; it maun be -lang past the 'oor noo. Yonder he is.” - </p> -<p> -But it was only a tramp, who hesitated at the foot of the upland road, and -then continued his way to the village, careless who lived or died, so that -he had meat and drink. -</p> -<p> -Round the distant corner Posty came at last, half an hour before his time -and half a mile the hour above his common speed. -</p> -<p> -“Wull ye gang doon, Meg?” - </p> -<p> -“A' canna; bring't up tae me when he's past,” and she sat down again and -covered her face; “tell me gin it 's come.” - </p> -<p> -Posty halted and swung round his bag; he took out the packet of road-side -letters and dropped four into the box without attention; then he kept a -fifth in his hands and hesitated; he held it up against the light as if he -would have read its contents. -</p> -<p> -“He's got it, an', Meg, wumman, a' dinna see... ony black on 't.” - </p> -<p> -Posty looked at his watch, and said aloud: -</p> -<p> -“A 'll risk the time; it 'ill no tak mair than an 'oor,” and he leaped the -dyke. -</p> -<p> -“Lord's sake, Bogleigh, is that you? A' wes thinkin' o' whuppin' round yir -wy the day for a change; in fac,” and Posty's effort at in difference -collapsed, “word's come frae Australy.” - </p> -<p> -“Wull ye... open't for's? ma hand's... no verra steady, an' the gude -wife... hesna her glesses.” - </p> -<p> -“Mr. David Ross, -</p> -<p> -“Farmer, -</p> -<p> -“Bogleigh, -</p> -<p> -“Drumtochty, -</p> -<p> -“Scotland.” - </p> -<p> -read Posty, with official importance; “that's a' richt, at ony rate.” - </p> -<p> -“He aye sent it tae his mither himsel; juist read the beginning Posty... -that 'ill be eneuch.” And David fixed his eyes on the letter, while Meg -dared not breathe. -</p> -<p> -“It affords me unspeakable satisfaction,” began Posty, in a low voice, and -then he suddenly lifted it up in victory, “to send good news. The very day -I wrote the worst symptoms disappeared, and your son is now on the way to -recovery.” - </p> -<p> -“There 's fower pages, an' a' can read, 'no cause now for alarm, but ye -canna better the affset. A' kent what it wud be; the doctor said gude news -in his prayer, and that's the verra word. -</p> -<p> -“Here, Mistress Ross, is the letter, for Bog-leigh's no fit tae tak -chairge o 't.... Me? A 've dune naethin' but cairry it. -</p> -<p> -“A 'll no deny, though, a' wud hae liket fine tae hev seen the inside o't -doon bye; sall, as sune as a' passed the boondary o' the pairish the fouk -set on me, but a' cud say naethin' mair than this, 'There's an Australy -letter, and it's no black-edged.' -</p> -<p> -“A'm aff noo,” buckling his bag, for Mrs. Ross had risen and was -threatening to seize his hand; “an' it 's worth gaein' up the Glen the day -wi' sic news. A 'll warrant Domsie's on the road lang syne. Ye 'ill hae -the Professor wi' ye in the Kirk again, gude wife, an' the neeburs 'ill be -prood tae see ye baith gang in the-gither,” and Posty leapt into the road -like a four-year-old. -</p> -<p> -Beginning at the manse, and continuing unto Drumsheugh, there was not a -house along the road where Posty did not give a cry that day, and it was -affirmed on credible evidence in the kirkyard next Sabbath that he stood -upon a dyke and made Hillocks understand at the distance of two fields' -breadth that Drumtochty had still a Professor. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -JAMIE -</h2> -<h3> -I.—A NIPPY TONGUE -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>ach community has its own etiquette, and in an advanced state of -civilisation such beautiful words as “Mister” and “Missus” are on every -one's tongue, some lonely Northerner perhaps saying “Mistress,” to the -amusement of footmen and other persons of refinement. While Drumtochty was -in its natural state, and the influence of Southern culture had scarcely -begun to play on its simplicity, we had other forms of speech. It was good -manners to call a farmer by his place, and had any one addressed Hillocks -as Mr. Stirton, that worthy man would have been much startled. Except on -envelopes, full-length names were reserved for the heading of roups and -the death column in newspapers, and so had acquired a flavour of -ceremonious solemnity. Ploughmen were distinguished by their Christian -names in some easy vernacular form, and the sudden introduction of the -surname could only be justified by a furrow that suggested the segment of -a circle or a return from Kildrummie fair minus a cart and two horses. His -lordship might notice Drumsheugh's foreman as he passed with a “Busy as -usual, Baxter,” and not be suspected of offence, but other men had said -“Fine fillin' day, Saunders,” to which Saunders would have most likely -deigned no answer save a motion of the right shoulder. Dignitaries had -their titles by prescriptive right, the parish minister being “Doctor” and -the schoolmaster “Dominie,” but only one man in the Glen had the -distinction of a diminutive, and it was a standing evidence of his place -in our hearts. -</p> -<p> -It was mentioned with relish that a Muirtown merchant raiding for honey, -having inquired of Whinnie Knowe where Mr. James Soutar lived, had been -gravely informed that no person of that name lived in the parish, and -would have departed to search for him in Kildrummie had he not chanced on -Drumsheugh. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mean Jamie?” and when Hillocks met him two miles further on he was -still feasting on the incident. -</p> -<p> -“He said 'Mister James Soutar' as sure as ye're lookin' me in the face, -Hillocks,” and both tasted the humour of the situation, which owed nothing -to artifice, but sprang from the irony of circumstances. -</p> -<p> -“Jamie,” ejaculated Drumsheugh, and a flood of recollections—scenes, -stories, incidents—swept across his face. Had he been a Kil-drummie -man, he would have laughed at the things he heard and saw. -</p> -<p> -“Sal,” wound up Hillocks, who had been tasting the same passed in silence, -“he's an awfu' body, Jamie; ye'ill no get the marra (equal) of him in six -pairishes.” - </p> -<p> -Drumtochty did not ground its admiration of Jamie on his personal -appearance, which lent itself to criticism and suggested a fine -carelessness on the part of nature. His head was too large for his body, -and rested on his chest. One shoulder had a twist forward which invested -Jamie with an air of aggression. His legs were constructed on the -principle that one knee said to the other, If you let me pass this time, I -'ll let you pass next time. -</p> -<p> -“Gin ye were juist tae luke at Jamie, ye micht ca' him a shachlin' -(shambling) cratur,” Drumsheugh once remarked, leaving it to be inferred -that the understanding mind could alone appreciate him, and that in this -matter Drumtochty walked by faith and not by sight. His rate of -progression was over four miles an hour, but this method was sideways, and -was so wonderful, not to say impressive, that even a phlegmatic character -like Drumsheugh's Saunders had been known to follow Jamie's back view till -it disappeared, and then to say “michty,” with deliberation. Young animals -that developed any marked individuality in gait were named after Jamie -without offence, and were understood to have given pledges of -intelligence, since it was believed that nature worked on the principle of -compensation. -</p> -<p> -“There's been an oversicht aboot Jamie's legs, but there's naethin' wrang -wi' his tongue,” and it was the general judgment that it did not -“shachle.” - </p> -<p> -Jamie's gift of speech was much aided by eyes that were enough to redeem -many defects in the under building. They were blue—not the soft -azure of the South, but the steely colour of a Scottish loch in sunshine, -with a north-east wind blowing—a keen, merciless, penetrating blue. -It gave a shock to find them fastened on one when he did not know Jamie -was paying any attention and they sobered him in an instant. Fallacies, -cant, false sentiment, and every form of unreality shrivelled up before -that gaze, and there were times one dared not emerge from the shelter of -the multiplication table. He had a way of watching an eloquent stranger -till the man's sentences fell to pieces and died away in murmurs before he -said “Ay, ay,” that was very effective; and when he repeated this -deliverance, after a pause of thirty seconds, even Whinnie understood that -the kirkyard had been listening to nonsense. -</p> -<p> -It seems yesterday that Milton—who had come into the Glen a month -before from Muirtown, and visited the two churches to detect errors for -two months—was explaining the signs of true religion to the silent -kirkyard, when he caught Jamie's eye and fell away into the weather, and -the minister of Kildrummie's son, who was preaching for the doctor, and -winding up his sermon with an incredible anecdote, came under the spell at -the distance of the pulpit, and only saved himself by giving out a psalm. -The man who passed Jamie's eye was true to the backbone, and might open -his mouth in any place. -</p> -<p> -Every man requires room for the play of his genius, and it was generally -agreed that Jamie, who had pricked many wind bags, came to his height in -dealing with Milton. -</p> -<p> -“Milton wes faithfu' wi' ye in the third comin' up frae the Junction on -Friday nicht, a'm hearin', Drumsheugh; the fouk say ye were that affeckit -ye cud hardly gie yir ticket tae Peter.” - </p> -<p> -“He's the maist barefaced (impudent) wratch that's ever been seen in this -Glen,” and Drumsheugh went at large; “he 'ill ask ye questions nae man hes -ony richt tae pit tae neebur. An' a wakely cratur as weel, greetin' an' -whinin' like a bairn.” - </p> -<p> -“A 'm astonished at ye,” said Jamie in grave rebuke, “an' you an elder. Ye -sud be thankfu' sic a gude man hes come tae the pairish. There's naethin' -but dry banes, he says, but he's ex-peckin' tae roose us afore he's dune. -</p> -<p> -“He's no feared, a 'll admit,” continued Jamie, “but a'm no sae sure that -he 's wakely; ye didna hear o' him an' his pairtner in the cloth shop at -Muirtown.” - </p> -<p> -The kirkyard thirsted for the news. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, ye see, the pairtner pit in five hun-dert, an' Milton pit in five, -and they cairried on business for sax year thegither. They separated laist -spring, an' Milton cam oot wi' a thoo sand an' the pairtner wi' naethin'. -</p> -<p> -“Milton hed been sairly tried wi' the ither man's warldliness, walkin' on -Sabbath an' sic-like, an' he wes sayin' in the train that he felt like -Jacob wi' Esau all the time. It's grand tae hae the poor o' Bible -illustration. A thoo-sand wud juist stock Milton fine, an' leave a note or -twa in the bank. -</p> -<p> -“What a'm feared for is that some misguided Drumtochty man micht try tae -tak advantage o' Milton in a bargain an' get a jidgment. Providence, ye -ken, watches ower thae simple-minded craturs, an' it's juist wunnerfu' hoo -they come aff in the end. But a'm dootin' that he's no strong; he hes tae -tak care o' himsel.” - </p> -<p> -As the fathers waited patiently for more, Jamie continued in his most -casual tone: -</p> -<p> -“He cairried a box in his hand Friday a week, an' pit it ablow the seat in -the kerridge; it wes aboot auchteen inches square and nine deep, an' -markit 'Hoggs' Patent Soap;' thae new soaps are brittle; a' dinna wunner -he wes carefu'. -</p> -<p> -“Ye sud hae heard him on the drinkin' at Muirtown market an' the duty of -total abstinence; he wantit Hillocks tae tak the pledge at the Junction, -but Drumtochty fouk's dour an' ill tae manage. -</p> -<p> -“Milton wes that agitat when he got tae Kildrummie that he lat his box fa' -on the platform; a' wes juist wunnerin' whether they sell soap in bottles -noo, when he said, 'It 's ma medee-cine, for the circulation o' the blood; -a 'm a frail vessel.' -</p> -<p> -“A' thocht that we micht hae been kinder tae Milton, an' him sic a -sufferer; twelve quart bottles is a sair allowance o' medeecine for ae -puir man,” and a far-away look came into Jamie's face. -</p> -<p> -Jamie's interest in Milton deepened every week, till he seemed to charge -himself with the vindication of Milton's character against all aspersions, -and its interpretation to a critical public. When it passed round -Kildrummie fair that that guileless man had landed a cow on Mary Robertson -at a high price, which was fair to look upon, but had a fixed objection to -giving milk, Jamie declared it was an invention of the enemy, and assured -Milton of his unshaken confidence in the presence of seven solemnised -neighbours. -</p> -<p> -“Some ill-set wratches,” he apologised to Milton, “canna bear the sicht o' -a raelly gude man, an' are aye gettin' up stories aboot him. Tae think ye -wud cheat a puir wumman aboot a coo.” - </p> -<p> -“We maun juist bear reproach,” began Milton, with his best accent. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, a' said tae them,” and Jamie refused to listen, “ye needna tell -me ony sic stories. Milton is no an ordinary professor, an' he kens his -Bible. Div ye think he's forgotten the passage aboot robbin' the widow?” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're makin' a mistak—” - </p> -<p> -“Ma verra words, Milton, 'It's been a mistak,' a' said, 'an' the meenut he -finds it oot, Milton 'ill gie back the money. What richt hae ye tae -consider him little better than a twa-faced heepocrite?'” - </p> -<p> -“There's no a man in the Glen wud hae got Mary's notes back frae Milton -but yersel, Jamie,” said Drumsheugh, celebrating the achievement in the -kirkyard next Sabbath. “There's a michty poor in a nippy tongue.” - </p> -<p> -Milton lost his second wife shortly after he came to the Glen, and it fell -to Jamie to explain the widower's feelings to the fathers. -</p> -<p> -“'It 's a sair dispensation,' he said tae me, 'an' comes heavy when the -calves are young; but we maunna complain. There's aye mercy mingled wi' -judgment. She micht hae been taken afore she hed got the hoose in order. -</p> -<p> -“'A 'm houpin' for the best, an' a' think the root o' the maitter wes in -her; there wes times a' wud hae liked tae hear a clearer testimony, but we -hevna a' the same gifts, an' there's nae doot she wes savin' wi' the gear. -</p> -<p> -“'She expressed hersel as thankfu' for oor merridge, an' considered it a -priveelege; but ma first wes mair experienced in doctrine, and hed a gift -o' prayer, though fractious in temper at a time. Ye canna get a'thing, ye -ken.' -</p> -<p> -“He hes a photograph o' the laist ane abune the fireplace in a frame wi' -an inscription, an' he wipit his eyes an' says, 'We maun look up, ma -freend, an' be resigned; it's an awfu' job tae ideelize the creature.' -</p> -<p> -“'Ye'ill no dae weel withoot a wife here, Milton,' says I; 'hoosekeepers -are dear, an' ye 'ill never get the wark o' yir wife oot of ane; it wes -maybe a peety ye lat her trachle (fatigue) hersel when she wesna strong, -but gin a man be busy wi' speeritual affairs he disna notice,' an' a' -askit him if he wes thinkin' o' a third.” - </p> -<p> -“Did ye dae that, Jamie?” said Hillocks, “an' her no gane a month. Milton -'ill think us a gey hard-hearted set in Drumtochty,” and the fathers -looked as if Jamie had gone too far. -</p> -<p> -“He 's no hed ony time tae think o 't yet,” continued Jamie, quietly, “an' -is tae leave himsel in the hands o' Providence. 'I 'll be guidit, nae -doot, an' a' maun juist wait.' His langidge wes beautiful tae hear. 'Half -the rent o' Milton 'ill need tae come oot the dairy, but we maun mairry in -the Lord.' He wes sair affeckit a' left, and speakin' aboot 'Mama.' A' gie -him sax months masel.” - </p> -<p> -“Yir tongue got the better o' ye that day, a' doot, Jamie,” and Hillocks, -who had married twice with fair pecuniary success, was distinctly nettled. -“What 's a man tae dae with-oot a wife tae haud things in aboot an' see -tae the hens? Forbye, bein' company,” throwing in a sentimental -consideration. -</p> -<p> -“Gin a man wants a woman tae gither eggs an' sew buttons on his sark -(shirt), he micht mairry twal times rinnin', an' naebody need say a word. -But what richt hes sic a man tae speak o' wife or... luve? He's juist a -po-leegamist.” - </p> -<p> -“Lord's sake,” ejaculated Hillocks, and the kirkyaird felt that this was -very wild talk indeed, and even personal. -</p> -<p> -“Naethin' else,” and Jamie's voice vibrated with a new note. “Gin a man -gaes afore his family tae America tae mak a hame for them, an' leaves his -wife here for a whilie, is he no mairrit? Wud he mairry another wife oot -there tae keep his hoose, an' say he hed juist ae wife because the sea wes -rollin' atween the twa women?” - </p> -<p> -“He daurna,” replied Whinnie, who never saw six inches ahead; “the polis——” - But Drumsheugh waved him to silence. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, gin the woman leaves the man an' passes intae the ither warld, is -she deid, think ye, neeburs, an' is she no' his wife? An' mair nor that, -are the twa no' nearer than ever, an'... dearer? -</p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill be sayin' in yir hearts, it 's no for Jamie Soutar tae be -speakin' like this, him at 's been alane a' his days; but a've ma ain -thochts, an' the deepest thing, ay, and the bonniest, in the warld is a -man an' a wumman ane in luve for ever.” - </p> -<p> -Jamie turned round and went into the kirk hurriedly, but Drumsheugh -lingered behind for a minute with Dr. Maclure, who was making his -quarterly attendance. -</p> -<p> -“What think ye o' that, Weelum? It bore a wee hard on Hillocks, but it wes -michty speakin' an' gared (made) the blood rin. Jamie's a hard wratch -ootside, but he's gude stuff inside.” - </p> -<p> -“Did ye ever notice, Drum, that Jamie hes hed a black band on his Sabbath -hat as far back as a' can mind? A' his freends are deid mair than thirty -year syne. Wha 's it for, think ye? A 'm thinkin' naebody 'ill get tae the -boddom o' Jamie till he fins oot the meanin' o'that band.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye may be richt, Weelum, an' a've wunnered tae, but Jamie 'ill never -tell; he hes his ain secret, an' he 'ill keep it.” The two men followed -their neighbours, and Drumsheugh said to himself, “Puir Jamie; the auld -story.” - </p> -<p> -The kirkyard kept Jamie in exercise, but it was on one of our rare public -occasions that he made history, and two of his exploits are still subject -of grateful recollection, and a bond between Drumtochty men in foreign -parts. One was the vote of thanks to the temperance lecturer who had come, -with the best intentions, to reform the Glen, and who, with the confidence -of a youthful Southern and a variable hold of the letter aitch, used great -freedom of speech. He instructed us all, from Doctor Davidson in the chair -down to the smith, whom he described as “an intelligent hartisan,” and -concluded with a pointed appeal to Domsie to mend his ways and start a -Band of Hope in the school. -</p> -<p> -“Solomon says, 'Train up a child in the way that he should go, and when he -is old he will never depart from it;' and I 'll apply these words to the -Glen of Drumtochty, 'Train hup a child to 'ate the bottle, and when he is -old he 'ill never depart from it;'” and the lecturer sat down in a silence -that might be heard. -</p> -<p> -There was something approaching a rustle when Jamie rose to propose the -vote of thanks—several charging themselves with snuff in haste, that -a word might not be lost—and no one was disappointed. -</p> -<p> -“Doctor Davidson an' neeburs,” said Jamie, “it wudna be richt that this -young gentleman sud come sae far o' his ain accord and give us sic a -faithfu' address withoot oor thanks, although he 'ill excuse us puir -country fouk for no bein' able to speak his beautiful English. -</p> -<p> -“We a' admired his ingenious application o' Proverbs, an' he may be sure -that nane o' us 'ill forget that new Proverb as lang as we live; a' micht -say that it 'ill be a household word in the Glen. -</p> -<p> -“Gin it's no presumption tae say it, it's verra interestin' tae see hoo -much experience the lecturer hes for his years in the up bringing o' -bairns, and a' mak nae doot the learned bodies in the Glen, as well as the -parents, 'ill lay his words tae heart. -</p> -<p> -“There wes a man in a glen north-bye,” modestly offering an anecdote for -the lecturer's future use, “'at wes sober (ill), an' the doctor, wha wes a -verra ignorant man, said he wud need a small tastin' tae keep up his -strength. But the man wes of the lecturer's persuasion, and wud drink -nothing but water. The weather wes terrible cold, and one day, juist five -minutes aifter he hed his mornin' gless of water, the man died. When they -opened him it wes found that he hed frozen up inch by inch, and the laist -gless had juist turned tae ice in his throat. It wes sic a noble instance -o' conscientious adherence tae principle that a' thocht a' wud mention it -for the lecturer's encouragement.” And when Jamie sat down the audience -were looking before them with an immovable countenance, and the doctor -held out his silver snuff box to Jamie afterwards with marked -consideration. -</p> -<p> -It is, however, generally agreed that Jamie's most felicitous stroke was -his guileless response to the humiliating invitation of a lay preacher, -who had secured the use of the Free Kirk, and held a meeting under -Milton's auspices. -</p> -<p> -“Now, my dear friends,” said the good man, a half-pay Indian Colonel, with -a suspicion of sunstroke, “all who wish to go to heaven stand up,” and -Drumtochty rose in a solid mass, except Lachlan Campbell, who considered -the preacher ignorant of the very elements of doctrine, and Jamie, who was -making a study of Milton with great enjoyment. -</p> -<p> -Much cheered by this earnest spirit, the Colonel then asked any Drumtochty -man (or woman) who wished to go elsewhere to declare himself after the -same fashion. -</p> -<p> -No one moved for the space of thirty seconds, and the preacher was about -to fall back on general exhortation, when Jamie rose in his place and -stood with great composure. -</p> -<p> -“You surely did not understand what I said, my aged friend.” - </p> -<p> -Jamie indicated that he had thoroughly grasped the Colonel's meaning. -</p> -<p> -“Do you really mean that you are ready to... go....where I mentioned?” - </p> -<p> -“A 'm no anxious for sic a road,” said Jamie, blandly, “but a' cudna bear -tae see ye stannin' alane, and you a stranger in the pairish,” and -Drumtochty, which had been taken unawares and was already repenting a weak -concession, went home satisfied. -</p> -<p> -Hillocks was so drawn to Jamie after this incident that he forgave him his -wild views on marriage, and afforded him an opportunity of explaining his -hat-band. -</p> -<p> -“Ye're a body, Jamie,” he said in vague compliment, “an' every man hes his -ain wys; but hoo is 't that ye aye hae a band on yir hat?” - </p> -<p> -“What think ye yersel?” and Jamie eyed Hillocks with a gleam of humour. -</p> -<p> -“As sure 's deith, Jamie, a' canna guess, unless it be a notion.” - </p> -<p> -“Toots, man, a' thocht ye wud hae been sure tae jalouse the truth o' a' -the fouk in the Glen; div ye no ken that a band hides the grease an' maks -a hat laist twice as lang?” - </p> -<p> -“Is that a'?” said Hillocks; “juist economy?” - </p> -<p> -“Ye hae the word,” answered Jamie, with unblushing face. “That band's -savit me the price o' twa new hats in forty year.” - </p> -<p> -It was on the way home from kirk, and after Hillocks had turned into his -own road Jamie took off his hat and brushed the band with a reverent hand. -</p> -<p> -When Jamie “slippit awa” and the kirkyard met to pass judgment, it was -agreed that he had been a thorough-going imposter and had quite befooled -the outer world, but that he had never taken in the Glen. -</p> -<p> -“It cowed a' tae hear Kildrummie lecturin' on Jamie in the third laist -Friday,” said Drumsheugh, with immense contempt; “ye sud hae been there, -Hillocks; a' never heard as muckle doonricht nonsense atween the Junction -an' the station in forty year. Man, gin Jamie hed juist been in the train -himsel, he wud hae been terrible pleased. -</p> -<p> -“'He's awa noo.' says that jultlin' (tricky) twa-faced body Sandie Mackay, -that gied Jamie licht wecht wi' his coal, 'an' it's oor duty tae be -charitable, but a 've ma doots aboot him. His tongue wes nae scannal, an' -he wes aye maist veecious against speeritual releegion.'” - </p> -<p> -“What said ye, Drumsheugh?” inquired Hillocks, with keen expectation. -</p> -<p> -“Naethin' worth mentionin'; it's no easy pittin' sense intae a Kildrummie -man. 'Ye 're wrang aboot Jamie miscain' gude men, Sandie, for he wes awfu' -taen (taken) up wi' Milton; he coonted him a straichforrit, honourable -man, wha wudna gie licht wecht or tak advantage o' a neebur.'” - </p> -<p> -“Ye hed him there; he wud lat Jamie alane aifter that, a'm expeckin'.” - </p> -<p> -“'It's a feedin' storm an' no lichtsome for the sheep,' wes a' he said. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, Sandie needna speak tae a Drumtochty man aboot Jamie; he didna -live here a' his days withoot oor kennin' him. There's nae doot he hed a -tongue, but it wes aye on the richt side. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye mind hoo he yokit on the kirkyaird ae day for lauchin' at Airchie -Moncur an' his teatotalism? it took us a' oor time tae quiet him, he wes -that croose; and ye ken it wes Jamie that focht awa wi' Posty till the -morning he wes drooned. He got him doon tae twa gless a day, an' micht hae -reformed him athegither gin he hedna been interrupit. -</p> -<p> -“His hert wes juist ower big, that wes the maitter wi' Jamie, an' he -hoddit (hid) his feelings for fear o' makin' a fule o' himsel afore the -pairish. -</p> -<p> -“Sall, he wesna verra parteeklar what he said gin ye hed him in a corner. -He nursit the bit lassie that lived wi' Mary Robertson for a hale day when -she wes deein' o' diptheria, an' threipit tae me that he hed juist gi'en a -cry in passin', an' when Lily Grant deed in London, he gied oot that her -mistress hed paid for bringin' the corpse tae Drumtochty kirkyaird. He cud -lee near as weel as Milton, but it wes aye tae cover his ain gudeness. -</p> -<p> -“A' coontit Weelum Maclure an' Jamie Soutar the warmest herts in the Glen, -an' Jamie 's never been the same sin... we lost Weelum. The kirkyaird's no -worth comin' tae noo that Jamie's awa.” - </p> -<p> -It spoke volumes for Milton's zeal that he was among the first to visit -Jamie after he took to bed, and the Glen can never be sufficiently -thankful that Elspeth Macfadyen was present to give an accurate account of -the interview. -</p> -<p> -“'Whatna step is that at the door?' said Jamie; 'a' never herd it here -afore '; and when a' telt him it wes Milton, he gied me a luke an' briskit -up that meenut. -</p> -<p> -“'Elspeth, he 's come tae dae me gude, an' he thinks he hes me in his -hand; pit him in yon chair whar a' can keep ma een on him, for a' canna -manage him oot o' ma sicht.' -</p> -<p> -“'It's solemn tae see ye brocht sae low, Jam—Mister Soutar '; he -thocht he micht try Jamie at laist, but the spunk gied oot o' him facin' -Jamie. 'Thae strokes are sent for a wise end; they humble oor pride.' -</p> -<p> -“'It's no a stroke,' said Jamie, lookin' fearsome at him frae ablow his -nicht-cap, 'though a 'll no deny there micht be a titch o' rheumaticks. -But a' coont lumbago mair subduin'; it taks ye sudden in the sma o' the -back, an' 'ill keep ye in the bit for an 'oor.' -</p> -<p> -“'A' wes thinkin' o' the hert, no the body, ma freend,' an' Milton started -on the whine; 'a 've been afflickit masel, an' dinna ken what a 'd been -the day hed it no been for trials.' “'Ye needna tell me, Milton, for -a'body kens yir losses, but a' houp ye'ill hae the present gude wife a -whilie; is she yir third or fourth? for ma memory's gaein' fast.' -</p> -<p> -“Milton said naethin' for a meenut, an' a' daurna look at him, but Jamie's -een were dancin' in his heid; he wes haein' his last bout wi' Milton, an' -it wes meat an' drink tae him. -</p> -<p> -“'Wud ye like me tae read somethin'?' begins Milton again. 'A've a fine -tract here, “A Sandy Foundation”; it's verra searchin' an' rousin', an' he -pits on his glesses. -</p> -<p> -“'Thank ye,' says Jamie, 'but thae tracts are ower deep for a simple man -like masel; the Bible dis for me graund. A've a favourite passage; noo if -ye didna mind readin' 't, it wud be a comfort. -</p> -<p> -“'Turn tae the 23rd o' Matthew, an' it 'ill dae fine gin ye begin at the -13th verse, “Woe unto ye, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites,” an' as sure -as a'm lookin' at ye, Drumsheugh, Jamie gared Milton feenish the chapter, -an' ilka time heepocrites wud come he wud say tae himsel, 'Maist -comfortin',' till a' hed tae gae ootside; he wes a veecious cratur, Jamie, -when he hed an ill-wull tae a body. -</p> -<p> -“When a' cam in, Milton hed been wantin' tae pray, and Jamie wes layin' -doon three condeetions. -</p> -<p> -“'First, ye maunna scriech (scream), for that wud gae through ma head; -secondly,' just like a sermon, 'ye 're no tae gang wanderin' aifter the -Jews or ony orra fouk; and laist, there's tae be naethin' personal, for a' -wud coont that doonricht impidence.' -</p> -<p> -“'A'm astonished at ye,' says Milton; 'hoo cud ye expect a blessin' on sic -a prayer?' an' he rises tae leave. 'Ye 're sure there's naethin' on yir -mind, for a 've hed experience.' -</p> -<p> -“'Weel, Milton, noo that ye 've mentioned 't, there is a maitter tribblin' -me, but it's no every man a' cud trust, an' a' dinna want tae burden ye.' -</p> -<p> -“'Is't a sin o' omission or commission?' an' Milton wes as keen as a -ferret. Puir cratur, little he kent Jamie. -</p> -<p> -“'Curious tae say, it's baith; it's maist extraordinar' hoo near ye've -come tae't; hoo cud ye ken?' -</p> -<p> -“'We 're a' frail, Mister Soutar,' an' Milton lookit as if butter cudna -melt in his mooth; 'ye michtna think it, but a v'e been tempit masel—lang -syne, of coorse; baith, omission an' commission, did ye say? that's no sae -common.'” - </p> -<p> -“'Na, it taks an accompleeshed sinner tae manage baith at the same time, -an' a 'll tell ye the case,' an' a' saw something wes comin'. -</p> -<p> -“'Ye ken Sandie Mackay, wha sells coals at Kildrummie station on week-day -and preaches roond the country on Sabbaths. Drumsheugh's Saunders brocht -up ma laist load frae Sandie; “half a ton best burning coal” wes on the -paper, an' wud ye believe me, a hundred-wecht short measure, an' half o' -them third quality—omission an' commission.' -</p> -<p> -“'A' can see ye 've scandalised, for a' mind noo, ye 've been acquant wi' -Sandie in meetings; noo, Milton, a' wes calc'latin' that a 've lost sax -and twopence exactly, and gin ye cud get it oot o' the waefu' wratch, this -week, a'd sough awa easier.' Milton made aff withoot anither word, an' the -bed shook ablow Jamie.” The afflicted patient was sitting up in bed when -Doctor Davidson came in, and would have concealed his occupation had it -been possible to get a large paper kite out of sight. -</p> -<p> -“It's for Saunders's laddie at Drumsheugh,” he apologised; “he's ane o' -the maist impi-dent an' mischievous smatchits (little fellow) in the Glen. -If a' didna help him wi' his bit trokes there wudna be a floor left in ma -gairden; the bairns are juist the trachle o' ma life.” - </p> -<p> -“Quite so, Jamie; and of all the people in the Glen there's nobody you -like so well and none that love you more. The more you scold them, the -more they come to you. As for the women, you 've been criticising them for -a generation, and now they're all fighting for the honour of nursing you.” - </p> -<p> -“Havers,” responded Jamie, “it's juist tae get a sicht o' the inside o' a -weel-kept hoose, and tak a lesson in order, though a 'll no deny that -Elspeth Macfadyen an' auld Mary hev been verra attentive, as weel as Bell -Baxter an' Annie Mitchell.” - </p> -<p> -“It's just a pity, Jamie, that so good-hearted a man never had a woman of -his own. What set you against marriage?” - </p> -<p> -“Wha sed a' wes against merridge, Doctor Davidson?” and Jamie's face -flushed. “Did ever man or woman hear me speak lichtly o' the mystery o' -luve? The Glen hes thocht me an auld cankered bachelor, an' a've seen a -lass leave her lad's side on the sicht o' me. Little they kent!” - </p> -<p> -No man knew better than the minister when to be quiet, and the ticking of -Jamie's big silver watch was heard throughout the kitchen. -</p> -<p> -“Doctor Davidson, ye've been an honest man in the pulpit an' oot o't a' -thae years, an' yir warks hev aye gane afore yir words. A 'll tell ye ma -secret afore a' dee; ou ay, a' ken a'm deein', an' a'm rael pleased. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill no mind that forty-five year syne a' workit a hale winter near -Kildrummie, gaein' and comin' nicht an' mornin'. -</p> -<p> -“A' met... a lassie there, an' a' cam tae luve her aince an' for ever. No -that a' wud hae spoken tae her, for a've been an ill-made, ill-tempered, -thrawn body a' ma days, an' she... she wes as gude as Marget Hoo, though -different. What mair can man say? -</p> -<p> -“The day ma wark wes dune a' said gude-bye tae her, an' that micht hae -been the end, but a' turned sudden, an' a' saw the luke on her face. -</p> -<p> -“She cud hae taen her pick o' a' the lads roond Kildrummie, but nae man -can lay doon the law tae luve; she... tuke me, that hed naething but a -faithfu' hert, an' we gied oor word ane tae the ither for life... an' -deith, as a man an' wuman sud aifter Christ's comin'. -</p> -<p> -“We cudna be mairrit till the summer, an' we agreed tae write nae letters -tae set the foukes' tongues gaein; we wantit tae hae oor ain secret. -</p> -<p> -“So we trysted tae meet aince a week at a stile in the woods atween here -an' Kildrummie, an' we hed... seeven evenings thegither; that wes a' we -ever saw o' ane anither in this warld. -</p> -<p> -“It wes the month o' May in an early spring that year, and the leaves were -oot in their bonnie first green, an' the birds were busy wi' their nests, -an' the lambs were still wi' their mithers in the field. A' nature wes -glad wi' us, an' blessed oor luve. -</p> -<p> -“The gate hes fa'en tae pieces lang syne, and the gap's built up wi' a -dyke, an' the trees are cut doon an' the hawthorn rooted up, but it's... -the same place tae me. -</p> -<p> -“A' can see the tree where we sat, an' the primroses at oor feet, an' the -sun shinin' on her face, an' the look in her eyes; a' see her wavin' her -hand tae me on the road aifter we pairted, an' the glint o' her goon -through the firs the last nicht. -</p> -<p> -“When a' cam the next day she wesna there, an' a hoddit amang the trees -for a ploy, but it wes lang waitin', for she didna come, an' a' gied hame -wi' fear in ma hert. -</p> -<p> -“It micht be that she cudna get awa, a' said tae masel as a' worked at a -dyke, but the dread wes hangin' ower me, an' when there wes nae-body at -the stile the next nicht, a' cud bide nae langer. -</p> -<p> -“A' set aff tae her hoose, and ilka turn o' the road a' lookit for Menie. -Aince ma hert loupit in ma briest like a birdie in its cage, for a wumman -cam along the near road frae Kildrummie, but it wesna Menie. -</p> -<p> -“When a' saw her brither wi' his face tae Drumtochty a' kent, afore he -said a word, that he wes seekin' me, an' that Menie wes dead. Never a tear -cam that day tae ma een, an' he telt me, stannin' in the middle o' the -road where it begins tae gae doon the hill. -</p> -<p> -“'It wes her throat, an' the doctor wes feared frae the first day; the -nicht she didna come she wes carried (delirious); she... said “Jamie, -Jamie,” ower an' ower again, an' wanted tae rise. -</p> -<p> -“'Aboot daybreak she cam tae hersel, and knew oor faces. “A'm deein',” she -said, “an' a' didna keep ma tryst last nicht. It's ower late noo, an' a -'ll no see him on earth again. -</p> -<p> -“'"Tell James Soutar that it wesna ma blame a' failed, an' gie him ma -Bible,” an' a while aifter she said, “A 'll keep the tryst wi' him some -day,” an'... that 's a'.' -</p> -<p> -“Her brither gied me the book an' waited, expeckin' me tae say somethin', -but a' hed nae words, an' he left me on the road, coontin' me hard o' -hert; a' wes a' that nicht... at the stile. -</p> -<p> -“Doctor, wull ye obleege me by gaein' tae that cupboard and bringin' me ma -Sabbath hat?” - </p> -<p> -Jamie took off the ring of crape, thin and faded with the years, and held -it for a moment in his hand. -</p> -<p> -“Pit it in the fire, doctor, whar a' can see it burn; a've worn it -forty-four years laist spring, but a 'll no need it again, for a 'm gaein' -oot o' mournin' sune. -</p> -<p> -“Here's her Bible,” and Jamie brought it from a shelf in his box bed; “gin -ye come tae ma chestin' (coffining), wull ye see it be pit in? There's -naethin' else a' want tae cairry wi' me tae the ither side, an'... a 'll -juist bid ye gude-bye, doctor; ye 're an honest man ootside an' in.” - </p> -<p> -“Would you like.. said the doctor, evidently moved. -</p> -<p> -“A' wud be obleeged,” and Jamie took off his night-cap. -</p> -<p> -Doctor Davidson prayed: -</p> -<p> -“Heavenly Father, who only art the source of love and the giver of every -good gift, we thank Thee for the love wherewith the soul of Thy servant -clave unto this woman as Jacob unto Rachel, which many years have not -quenched. Remember the faithfulness of this true heart, and disappoint not -its expectation. May the tryst that was broken on earth be kept in heaven, -and be pleased to give Thy... give Jamie a good home-coming. Amen.” - </p> -<p> -“Thank ye, doctor; ye 've said what I wantit, an'... it wes kind o' ye tae -pit in Jamie,” and his hand came out from the bed for a last grasp. He -watched the minister go, and when Elspeth returned he said, “Yon's a richt -man.” - </p> -<p> -The upland children returning home from school in the afternoon came to -the cottage door, and Jamie, who had been dozing, heard their whispering. -</p> -<p> -“There's some o' thae prodigals oot there in the gairden; bring them in, -Elspeth, or a' give them a hearin'; they 've juist been the torment o' ma -life.” - </p> -<p> -They came in warily, as those who had some experience of former tricks, -but there was no fear even among the girls. Had it not been known how -Jamie detested children, you would have imagined that he had been their -playmate. -</p> -<p> -“The warst laddie o' the lot,” and Jamie seemed to be speaking to the -ceiling of his bed, “is Tammie Baxter. It's maist aggravatin' that he sud -leave 'a lairge paper kite in a sick body's bed, an' me wantin' tae turn -roond.” The kite projected itself forward from dark recesses in all its -glory of many and very loud colours. -</p> -<p> -“It's rael bonnie,” was all that Tammie offered by way of thanks, as he -took possession of his prize amid general envy. -</p> -<p> -“A' wudna say but there micht be sugar-candy in the cupboard,” continued -Jamie in a soliloquy, and a rush for the door was stayed. -</p> -<p> -“Annie Mitchell 'ill divide it fair, an' a'm expeckin' a kiss.” - </p> -<p> -“Are ye near weel?” she said, when the debt was paid after a generous -fashion. “Mither wants tae ken.” - </p> -<p> -“Tell her a'm juist gettin' on fine, an' a'll be a' richt in twa or three -days.” - </p> -<p> -Elspeth reported the proceedings with the kite, and Jamie was full of -anxiety. -</p> -<p> -“Tell Tammie tae pit on a heavier clod and keep tuggin',” till a shout -came in through the door. -</p> -<p> -“It's near oot o' sicht,” and then Jamie was at peace. -</p> -<p> -“Bairns are an' awfu' trachle (trouble),” he moralised; “a' canna mak oot -hoo fouk pit up wi' them; that lassie Mitchell is juist a hempie.” - </p> -<p> -Next morning Jamie declined conversation, and lay to all appearance -unconscious, so that when the Free Kirk minister came, between whom and -Jamie there had been a special friendship since the day Carmichael had -declared his conviction on Posty's future state, Elspeth led him in on -tip-toe and spoke in a whisper. -</p> -<p> -“Ou aye, a' kent ye wud be concerned, for you an' he were chief -(friendly); he's been this wy a' day, naither better nor worse; juist -leevin' that's a'; he 'ill never speak again.” - </p> -<p> -“I have been at the Glasgow sacrament,” and Carmichael went over to the -fire-place; “else I would have come up before. Jamie has always been very -kind to me. It 's sad to see him lying there speechless, who had the -cleverest tongue in the Glen.” - </p> -<p> -“Ay, ay, he 's past speech noo; he hears naething.” - </p> -<p> -“Wes 't a vawcancy ye were preachin' in,” a loud, clear voice proceeded -from the bed, “or juist helpin' a freend?” - </p> -<p> -“Preserve's a' body an' soul,” cried Elspeth; and Carmichael himself was -shaken. -</p> -<p> -“We thought you were unconscious, Jamie; I 'm glad you can still take an -interest in things.” - </p> -<p> -“There 's been a gey lot o' havers (nonsense) gaein' in this hoose the -laist twal 'oors, but a' didna let on; na, na, a' enjoyed it.” - </p> -<p> -Kirsty Stewart came to share the night watch with Elspeth, but neither -presumed till nearly daybreak, when Kirsty declared, with the just weight -of her medical authority, that all was over. -</p> -<p> -“He hes the look, an' his hands are as cold as ice; feel his feet, -wumman.” - </p> -<p> -“A' canna find them,” said Elspeth, making timid explorations. -</p> -<p> -“They used tae be on the end o' ma legs,” remarked Jamie, as if uncertain -where they might now be placed. -</p> -<p> -Elspeth started back and looked at him, but his eyes were closed, and he -gave no other sign of consciousness. -</p> -<p> -“A 'll no meddle wi' him again,” said Elspeth, solemnly, “though a' sit -here for a week; he's a queer body, Jamie; he gied his ain wy a' his life, -an' tak ma word for't, Kirsty, he 'ill hae his ain wy o' deein'.” - </p> -<p> -When the first ray shot through the window and trembled on the bed, Jamie -raised himself and listened. He shaded his eyes with his hand, as if he -were watching for some one and could not see clearly for excess of light. -</p> -<p> -“Menie,” he cried suddenly, with a new voice, “a 've keepit oor tryst.” - </p> -<p> -When they laid him in the coffin—the Bible in his hands—the -smile was still on his face, and he appeared a man some forty years of -age. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -SERVANT LASS -</h2> -<h3> -I.—HOW SHE WENT OUT -</h3> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>ary Robertson's brave fight to bring up her orphaned grandchildren had -won her the silent respect of the Glen, and when it was reported that Lily -had obtained a place in London, and would leave in three weeks, the -fathers gave themselves to the incident on all its sides. -</p> -<p> -“Nae wumman in the pairish hes dune her duty better than Mary,” said -Drumsheugh, with authority. “She's been an example tae every man o's. It's -auchteen year laist Martinmas sin' her dochter's man ran aff and his puir -wife came hame tae dee, leavin' her mother wi' the chairge o' sax young -bairns. Ye canna dae't withoot help, Mary,' says I tae her: 'ye 'ill need -a bit allooance frae the pairish, an' a 'll get it for ye next Boord. A -shilling a week ilka bairn 'ill gang a lang wy in yir hands.' -</p> -<p> -“'Thank ye, Drumsheugh.' She wes standing at her gate, and drew herself up -straicht. 'An' a' the neeburs hev been freendly; but? there's never been -ane o' ma bluid on the pairish, an' there never wull be sae lang as the -Almichty leaves me ma reason and twa airms. -</p> -<p> -“'Mary had a puir life o't, an' she deed o' the disgrace her man pit on -her. “A'm gaein' awa,” she said tae me, “an' a've juist ae thing tae ask, -mither; dinna lat the bairns gae on the pairish; bring them up tae wark -and tae respeck themsels.” A' gied her ma word, an' a 'll keep it.' She -lookit graund, fouks,” wound up Drumsheugh. -</p> -<p> -“She's rael Drumtochty, is Mary,” remarked Jamie Soutar; “for doonricht -pride an' thraun-ness ye 'ill no get their marra in Scotland. What for did -she no tak the allooance? She wud hae been a gude few notes the better a' -thae years: mony an 'oor's wark she micht hae spared hersel'. -</p> -<p> -“Noo gin Mary hed been a wumman wi' a proper speerit o' humility and kent -her place, she wud hae gruppit a' she cud get, and beggit frae the -neeburs, an' gotten on better than ever. But if she didna sit up at nicht -makin' the bairns' claithes, and wark in the fields a' day tae earn their -schuling, an' a' tae keep her independence, as they ca't. A 've seen Mary -come intae kirk wi' the sax bairns afore her, an' she cudna hae cairried -her head higher hed she been the Coontess o' Kilspindie. -</p> -<p> -“A'm judgin' this kind o' speerit's in the verra air o' the Glen, for -there's juist twa auld weemen on the pairish; ane o' them's blind, the -ither's had a stroke; naither o' them hes a freend, an' baith o' them murn -every day they canna wark.” - </p> -<p> -“Mary's an able wumman,” broke in Hillocks, who was much given to -practical detail; “a've seen her hens layin' in the dead o' winter, and -she hed a coo, a' mind, 'at gied half as muckle milk again as ony coo in -oor toon. As for plannin' she got ma Sunday blacks when they were gey far -through wi't, an' gin she didna juist mak a jacket for Chairlie 'at did -him for ten year; a'm dootin' she hes tae pay for him yet: he's no the -help he micht hae been as far as a' can mak oot; eh, Drumsheugh?” - </p> -<p> -“Gin it wesna for him daein' naethin' and livin' on his faimily, Hillocks, -Lily micht stay wi' her grannie, an' keep Mary comfortable in her auld -age. But they aye cover him, baith his grannie and his sister, till ye wud -think there wes never a better-daein' lad gied oot o' the Glen. Whatever -they say among themsels, they 'ill no say a word ootside.” - </p> -<p> -What they did say in Mary Robertson's cottage that evening was sad enough. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, weel, lassie, there wes sax tae begin wi', an' twa died o' the -dipthery—eh, but Doctor Maclure wes kind that time—and twa -mairried and gied awa, an' Chairlie... in Ameriky, an' there's juist -yersel left, and I wes trustin' ye wud stay wi' yir auld grannie an' close -her een.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna speak that foolish wy, grannie,” but Lily's voice had a break in -it. “Ye 're lookin' fresher than mony a young wumman, an' ye ken a'm tae -get hame at a time, maybe ilka three year.” - </p> -<p> -“It's a lang road, Lily, tae Lunnon, an' ill tae traivel; a' may be dead -and buried afore ye come back, an' a 'll be terrible lonely, juist like a -bird when the young anes are ta'en awa.” - </p> -<p> -“Gin ye say anither word a 'll fling up ma place, an' never gang in tae -service ava; it's no ma wush tae leave the Glen an' gang sae far frae -hame. But we maun py the man in Muirtown what Chairlie borrowed, else oor -name 'ill be disgraced.” - </p> -<p> -“It's disgraced eneuch already with sic a useless fellow; he's his faither -ower again—a fair face, a weel-dressed back, a cunning tongue, an' a -fause heart. There's no a drop o' Robertson bluid in him, lassie; there's -times a' wish he was dead,” and Mary's voice trembled with passion. -</p> -<p> -“Wisht, wisht, grannie; he's mither's only son, an' she wes prood o' him, -a've heard ye say, an' he 'ill maybe mend; div ye ken a' wes juist -imaginin' that he set tae work and githered a lot o' siller, an' paid back -a' ye hae dune for him. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill no be angry, but a' telt Marget Hoo ae day aboot oor tribble an' -ma houp o' Chairlie—for ye canna look at Marget an' no want tae -unburden yersel—an' she said, 'Dinna be ashamed o' yir dreams, Lily; -they 'ill a' come true some day, for we canna think better than God wull -dae.'” - </p> -<p> -“Marget Hoo is nearer the heart o' things than onybody in the Glen, an' -a'm prayin' she may be richt. Get the bukes; it's time for oor readin'.” - And Mary asked that “the heart o' him that wes far awa micht be turned tae -gudeness, an' that he micht be a kind brother to his sister.” - </p> -<p> -No girl had gone to service in London before, and the Glen took a general -interest in Lily's outfit. The wricht made her kist of sound, -well-seasoned wood, and the Glen, looking in from time to time, highly -approved of its strength and security. Sandie was particularly proud of an -inner compartment which he had contrived with much ingenuity, and which -was secured by a padlock whose key defied imitation. -</p> -<p> -“Noo, you see, if ony ill-conditioned wratch got intae the kist, he micht -get a goon or a jaicket, but he wudna be able tae titch her siller. Na, -na, what she wins she keeps; ma certes, that boxie 'ill beat them.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye ken what ye're aboot, wricht,” said Hillocks, who felt that one going -to distant parts could hardly take too many precautions, “an' ye've turned -oot a wise-like kist; sall, Lily, 'ill dae weel gin she fill it.” - </p> -<p> -Concerning the filling long and anxious consultations were held in Mary's -kitchen, and Elspeth Macfadyen was called in as a specialist, because she -had been once in service herself, and because her sister was cook in the -house of the Provost of Muirtown. -</p> -<p> -“We maunna gang a saxpence intae debt,” and Mary laid down preliminary -conditions, “an' a'thing sud be genuine, in an' oot—nae show on the -back and poverty ablow; that's puir cleidin' (clothing) for Christian -fouk.” - </p> -<p> -“Lily 's savit aucht pund at the Lodge, an' a' can spare twa or three. How -mony dresses an' sic-like 'ill she need tae begin respectable, for the -hoose an' the kirk?” - </p> -<p> -“Lily 'ill need twa prints for certain, an' ae black dress for the house, -an' anither dress for gaein' oot tae kirk or tae see her freends. She wud -be better o' a third print an' a second oot-side goon—for a bit -change, ye ken. Then she maun hae a bonnet for Sabbath an' a hat tae gae -oot a message in forby. The ither things she 'ill hae already,” for -Elspeth had been going over the matter carefully for weeks; “ye 'ill be -getting her things at Muirtown, an' a 'll be gied to gie ye ony help in ma -poor.” - </p> -<p> -Three hours did they spend next Friday in the Muirtown shop, examining, -selecting, calculating, till Lily's humble outfit was complete and -Elspeth's full list overtaken, save the third print and a merino gown on -which Mary had set her heart. -</p> -<p> -“We haena the means,” and Mary went over the figures again on her fingers, -“an' sae ye maun juist wait. Gin the price o' butter keeps up, ye 'ill hae -them afore the New Year, an' a 'll send them up in a bit parcel.... -Havers, what sud a' stairve masel for? nae fear o' that; but keep's a' -what's Drumsheugh aifter here?” - </p> -<p> -“Hoo are ye a' the day?” said the great man, fresh from a victory over a -horse-dealer, in which he had wrested a price beyond the highest -expectation of Drumtochty; “can ye gie me a hand wi' twa or three bit -trokes, Elspeth?” and the two disappeared into the recesses of the shop. -</p> -<p> -“A' heard ye were here, an' a' wes wonderin' hoo the siller wes haudin' -oot; naebody daur offer half-a-croon tae Mary; but she michtna mind Lily -gettin' a bit present frae a neebur, juist tae hansel her new kist, ye -ken,” and Drumsheugh pressed two notes into Elspeth's hands, and escaped -from the strange place by a side door. When the parcel was opened that -evening, for the joy of going over its contents, Mary turned on Elspeth in -fierce wrath. -</p> -<p> -“What did ye dae this for, Elspeth Macfadyen? an' behind ma back. Ye ken -a' didna pay for thae twa, and that a 'll no tak an ounce o' tea let alane -twa goons withoot payment. Pit the goons up, Lily, an' a 'll gie them back -the mornin', though a' hae tae walk the hale twal mile tae Muirtown.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna be sae hysty, Mary.” Elspeth was provokingly calm. “Ye needna be -feared that Drumsheugh didna pay for his order, and if he wanted tae gie -the lassie a fairin', a' see nae use in flinging it back in his face; but -ye maunna lat on tae himsel for the warld, or tell a livin' soul.” - </p> -<p> -When Lily's box was packed on Thursday evening, her grandmother would have -slipped in all the household treasures that could be introduced between -layers of soft goods, and sent the eight-day clock had it been a suitable -equipment for a young woman entering service in London. The box was taken -down to Kildrummie station in one of Drumsheugh's carts, padded round with -straw lest the paint be scratched, but Hillocks came with his dog-cart and -drove Lily down in state, carrying in her right hand a bunch of flowers -from Jamie Sou-tar's garden, and in the other a basket containing a comb -of honey left by Posty, without remark, a dozen eggs from Burnbrae, and -two pounds of perfect butter from Mary's hand. These were intended as a -friendly offering from the Glen to Lily's new household that she might not -appear empty-handed, but the peppermints that filled her pocket were for -herself, and the white milk scones on the top of the bag, with a bottle of -milk, were to sustain Lily on the long journey. Mary shook hands with Lily -twice, once at the cottage door and again after she had taken her place -beside Hillocks, but Mary did not kiss Lily, for whom she would have died, -and whom she did not expect to see again in this life; nor were their -farewell words affecting. -</p> -<p> -“See that ye hae yir box richt libelled, Lily, an' ye 'ill need tae watch -it at the junctions; keep the basket wi' the eggs in yir hands, for fear -somebody sits on't; an', Lily, wumman, for ony sake haud yir goon aff the -wheel when ye 're gettin' doon at Kildrummie. Is't comin' tae a shoor, -Hillocks?” - </p> -<p> -“A' wudna say but there micht be a scowie afore nicht; it 'ill freshen the -neeps fine.” And so Lily departed. -</p> -<p> -“But Mary went to a knowe that commanded the road, and watched Hillocks's -dogcart cross Tochty bridge and go up the other side till it disappeared -into the dark fir woods on the ridge. Then she went back to the kitchen, -where everything spoke of her girl, and sat down by the lonely fireside -and wept. -</p> -<p> -“It was a curious coincidence that Jamie Soutar had some “troke” in -Muirtown that day, and travelled in the same carriage with Lily, beguiling -her from sorrow with quaint stories and indirect shrewd advice. As he was -rather early for his business, he had nothing better to do than see Lily -off by the London express, adding to her commissariat a package of sweets -from the refreshment room, and an illustrated paper from the bookstall. He -shambled along beside her carriage to the extreme edge of the platform, -and the last thing Lily Grant saw as she went forth into a strange land -was Jamie waving his hand. It showed that the old man's memory was -beginning to fail that, instead of going down to the town, he went back by -the midday train to Kildrummie, giving Mary a cry in the evening, and -assuring her that Lily was so far on her journey in “graund heart.” - </p> -<p> -It was covenanted between them that Lily should send Mary a “scrape o' the -pen” on arrival—as an assurance that she was safe, and the eggs—and -should write in a while at full length, when she had settled down to her -work and found a kirk. The Glen waited for this letter with expectation, -and regarded it as common property, so that when Posty delivered it to -Mary he sat down without invitation, and indicated that he was ready to -receive any titbits she might offer for his use. -</p> -<p> -“Lily's keepin' her health, but she's no awfu' ta'en up wi' the climate o' -London; wud ye believe it, they hae the gas lichtit by two o'clock in the -aifternoon, an' the fog's eneuch tae smoor ye; it's no veecious cauld -though.” - </p> -<p> -“There's waur things than cauld,” said Posty, who had started that morning -in twenty degrees of frost; “is she wearyin'?” - </p> -<p> -“Whiles a'm dootin', puir lassie; when she hes half an 'oor tae hersel, -she gaes up tae her room and taks oot a pokie (bag) o' rose leaves we -dried in the simmer. The smell o' them brings up oor bit gairden and me -stannin', as plain as day, at the door. Fouk tak notions, a 've heard, -when they 're far frae hame,” added Mary, by way of apology. -</p> -<p> -“Ay, ay,” and Posty looked steadily from him. -</p> -<p> -“It's eatin' an' drinkin' frae mornin' till nicht, Lily says; an' the -verra servants hae meat three times a day, wi' beer tae their dinner. An' -the wyste cowes a'; she says Elspeth Macfadyen wud get her livin' frae -amang their feet.” - </p> -<p> -“A' dinna think muckle o' beer,” observed Posty; “there 's nae fusion -in't; naither heat for the stamach nor shairpness for the intel-leck.” - </p> -<p> -“A set o' extravagant hizzies,” continued Mary; “fur on their jaickets, -like leddies, an' no a penny in the bank. The meenut they get their wages, -aff tae spend them on finery. Ane o' them borrowed five shillings frae -Lily tae get her boots soled.” - </p> -<p> -“Lord's sake, that's no cannie,” and Posty awoke to the dangers that beset -a young girl's path in the great Babylon; “tell Lily, whatever she dis, -tae keep her haud o' her siller.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye 're richt there, Posty. Lily's juist ower saft-hearted, and she hes a -gey lot o' trimmies tae deal wi'. Wud ye credit it, ilka ane o' them hes -'Miss' on her letters, an' gin freends come tae see them they maun ask for -Miss this an' that; a' pit 'Lily Grant, Hoosemaid,' on ma letters.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're wrang there, Mary,” interrupted Posty; “what for sud ye ca' doon -yir ain, an' her sic a fine lassie? Ma opeenion is that a Drumtochty -wumman hes as gude a richt tae Miss as her neeburs. Sall, gin a' catch ye -sendin' aff anither 'Lily,' a'll whup in the Miss masel; but is there nae -word aboot the kirks?” for Posty felt that these trifling details were -keeping them from the heart of the matter. -</p> -<p> -“A'm comin' tae that, an' it's worth hear-in', for the ignorance o' thae -London fouk is by ordinar. When she askit the near road tae the kirk, -naebody in the hoose cud tell her whether it wes east or wast.” - </p> -<p> -Posty wagged his head in pity. -</p> -<p> -“So she gied oot and fell in wi' a polisman, an' as luck wud hae it, he -wes a Scotchman. 'Come awa, lassie,' he said; 'a' see whar ye 've frae; it -'s a mercy ye didna fa' intae the hands o' some of ma neeburs; they micht -hae sent ye aff tae the Methodies, an' they wud hae gien ye a fricht wi' -cryin' Hallelujah.'” - </p> -<p> -“A graund body for a' that,” interpolated Posty, “but clean astray on the -decrees.” - </p> -<p> -“'Yonder 's the place,' says he, 'an' ye pit yir collection in a plate at -the door—there 's nae ladles—but there 's a couthie wumman -keeps the door in the gallery, an' she 'ill gie ye a seat.' -</p> -<p> -“She kent it wes her ain place when she saw a properly ordained minister -in the pulpit, wi' his black goon and bonnie white bands; and when they -started the Hundredth Psalm, her heart cam intae her mooth, an' she cudna -sing a word.” - </p> -<p> -“Wes there an organ?” demanded Posty, with the manner of one who has a -duty to perform, and must be on his guard against sentiment. -</p> -<p> -“A 'll no tell ye a lee, Posty, there wes, an' of coorse Lily didna like -it, but she wes terrible pleased wi' the sermon. As for the organ, it -juist boomilled awa, an' she never lat on she heard it.” - </p> -<p> -“Dis she gie the texts an' diveesions?” and Posty smacked his lips. -</p> -<p> -“It's no likely she wud forget that, aifter gaein' ower them ilka Sabbath -nicht here sin she wes a wee bairnie. 'Faith without works is dead.' -James, ye ken.” - </p> -<p> -“Ay, ay,” cried Posty, impatiently; “a testin' text; ye cudna hae a better -tae jidge a a man by; hoo wes 't handled?” - </p> -<p> -“Three heads. First, 'True religion is a principle in the soul'—Posty -nodded, 'that's faith.' Second, 'It is a practice in the life'—'warks.' -murmured Posty. Third, 'Without a principle in the soul, there can't be a -practice in the life.'” - </p> -<p> -“A' see naethin' wrang there, Mary; it's maybe no verra oreeginal, but -that's naither here nor there; gin ye stand on yir head ye can aye see a -new glen; it wis soond an' instructive. Did he titch on Paul and James? he -wud be sure tae be reconcilin' them, gin he be ablow forty.” - </p> -<p> -“That's a' she writes on the sermon, but she gied intae the vestry wi' her -lines, an' the minister wes rael kind tae her when he heard her tongue. -</p> -<p> -“His English slippit aff in a meenut, an' oot cam the auld tongue; he's a -Perthshire man himsel, though frae the sooth end, an' his wife's second -cousin is merried tae the minister o' Kildrummie's brother, so ye micht -say he wes conneckit wi' Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -“He telt her tae coont him a freend noo that she wes amang strangers, an' -tae send for him in tribble, an' Lily declares that she gaed back that -mornin' wi' her heart fu' of comfort an' gledness. So ye may tell the -neeburs that Lily's daein' weel in London. She sends her respects tae -Drumsheugh, and ye'ill say tae Jamie Soutar that Lily wes askin' for him.” - </p> -<p> -When Posty departed, Mary read the last part of Lily's letter slowly to -herself. -</p> -<p> -“The minister's prayer took in a' kinds o' fouk, an' ae peteetion, a' -thocht, wes for us, grannie: 'Remember any one about whom his friends are -anxious '—and he stopped for half a meenut. Ye cud hae heard a preen -(pin) fall, an' a' said tae masel, 'Chairlie.' -</p> -<p> -“Dinna be ower cast doon aboot him, nor gie up houp; he's young an' -thochtless, an' he 'ill maybe tak a turn sune. -</p> -<p> -“A've savit five pund aff ma wages, an' a'm sendin't in a note, for a' -didna want the fouk at the post-office tae ken oor affairs. -</p> -<p> -“Noo, gin ye be writin' Chairlie, will ye slip in a pund juist as a bit -reminder o' his sister, an' the ither fower 'ill help tae py the Muirtown -debt. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna think a'm scrimpin' masel or daein' onything mean. Aifter a've -spent sax pund a year on claithes and little trokes, and three on ma kirk, -a 'll hae aucht ower for the debt. -</p> -<p> -“When the laist penny's paid o' Chairlie's debt a 'll buy the best black -silk in London for ye; an' gin a'm spared tae come hame tae the summer -Sacrament, we 'ill gang thegither tae the table.” - </p> -<p> -“Twa silly weemen,” said Mary to herself, “for he's juist a -ne'er-dae-weel... an' yet, gin he cam in noo, a' wud gie him the claithes -aff ma back, an' sae wud Lily. For the look in his een an' the soon' o' -his voice.” - </p> -<h3> -II.—HOW SHE CAME HOME -</h3> -<p> -When Jamie Soutar dropped into the smithy-one spring evening with an -impracticable padlock, and mentioned casually that he was going to London -next day, the assembled neighbours lost power of speech. -</p> -<p> -“Did ye say London, Jamie?” Hillocks was understood to have shown great -presence of mind in unparalleled circumstances; “an' are ye in yir -senses?” - </p> -<p> -“As sune as ye recover yir strength, smith,” said Jamie, taking no notice -of fatuous questions, “a 'll be obleeged gin ye wud turn the key in this -lock. It's a wee dour tae manage; a' hevna used ma bag sin a' gaed tae the -saut water saxteen year past.” - </p> -<p> -“Did ye ever hear the like?” and the smith looked round the circle for -support, refusing to treat Jamie's demand as an ordinary matter of -business. -</p> -<p> -“What are ye glowerin' at me for as if a' wes a fairlie?” and Jamie -affected anger; “hes a Drumtochty man no as muckle richt tae see the -metropolis o' the country as ither fouk, gin he can pay his fare up an' -doon? -</p> -<p> -“A've been wantin' tae see the Tooer o' London, whar mony a lord hes -pairted wi' his heid, an' Westminster Abbey, whar the michty dead are -lyin', an' the Hooses o' Parliament, whar they haver a hale nicht through, -an' the streets, whar the soond o' feet never ceases. -</p> -<p> -“The fact is,” and Jamie tasted the situation to the full, “a 'm anxious -tae improve ma mind, an' gin ye speak me fair a 'll maybe gie the Glen a -lecture in the schulehoose in the winter time wi' a magic-lantern, ye -ken.” - </p> -<p> -The neighbours regarded him with horror, and, after he had departed, -united their wisdom to solve the mystery. -</p> -<p> -“Jamie's by himsel in the Glen,” summed up Hillocks, “an' hes a wy o' his -ain. Ma thocht is that he juist took a notion o' seein' London, an' noo -that we 've contered (opposed) him, Jamie 'ill go, gin it cost him ten -notes.” - </p> -<p> -On his way home Jamie gave Mary Robertson a cry, who was sitting very -lonesome and sad-like before her door. -</p> -<p> -“Hoo are ye, Mary? the smell o' spring's in the air, an' the buds are -burstin' bonnie. Ye 'ill no hae heard that a 'm aff tae London the morrow, -juist for a ploy, ye ken, tae see the wonders.” - </p> -<p> -As Mary only stared at him, Jamie offered explanations in atonement for -his foolishness. -</p> -<p> -“Ye see a 've aye hed an ambeetion tae see the big warld that lies ootside -oor bit Glen, for its far awa' soon' hes been often in ma ear. A 've savit -a note or twa, an' a 'll get a glimpse afore a' dee.” - </p> -<p> -“It's a Providence, an' naethin' less than an answer tae prayer,” broke in -Mary, in great agitation; “here hev I been murnin' that a' cudna get tae -London masel, an' that a' kent naebody there, till ma heart wes weary in -ma breist. -</p> -<p> -“Naethin' is sairer, Jamie, than tae ken that ane ye luve is lyin' ill -amang strangers, wi' naebody o' her bluid tae speak a couthy word tae her, -puir lassie, or gie her a drink. A' wes juist seein' her lyin' alane at -the top of the big hoose, an' wushin' she wes wi 's a' in the Glen.” - </p> -<p> -“Posty said something aboot Lily bein' a wee sober,” Jamie remarked, with -much composure, as if the matter had just come into his memory; “an' noo -a' mind ye expeckit her hame for a holiday laist August. She wudna be -wantin' tae traivel sae far north, a'm jalousin'.” - </p> -<p> -“Traivel!” cried Mary; “naebody cares for a long road gin it brings us -hame; an' Lily wes coontin' she would come up wi' the Drumtochty fouk on -the first Friday o' laist August. A' wes cleanin' up the place for a month -tae hae 't snod, but she didna come, an' a'm fearin' she 'ill no be here -again; a' hed a feelin' frae the beginnin' a' wud never see Lily again. -</p> -<p> -“Her letter cam on a Thursday afternoon when I was beginnin' tae air the -sheets for her bed, an' when Posty gave it, I got a turn. -</p> -<p> -“Lily's no comin,' sit doon,” a' sed. -</p> -<p> -“Scarlet fever broke oot amang the bairns in the family, an' she thocht it -her duty tae stay and help, for the hoose wes fu' o' nurses, an' the -cairryin' wes by ordinar.” - </p> -<p> -“It wes a sacrifice,” said Jamie. “Lily never eneuch cared for hersel; the -wark wud tell on her a 'll warrant.” - </p> -<p> -“Ma opeenion is that she's never got the better o' that month, an, Jamie, -a' hevna likit her letters a' winter. It 's little she says aboot hersel, -but she 's hed a hoast (cough) for sax months, an' a' gither her breath 's -failin'. -</p> -<p> -“Jamie, a' hevna said it tae a livin' soul, but a 've hed a warnin' no -langer back than laist nicht. Lily's deein', an' it wes London 'at hes -killed her. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill gae tae see her, Jamie; ye aye were a gude friend tae Lily, an' -she likit ye weel. Write hoo she is, an' bring her back wi' you gin she -can traivel, that a' may see her again, if it be the Lord's wull.” - </p> -<p> -“Dinna be feared o' that, Mary; a'll no come back withoot Lily,” and -Jamie's air of resolution was some consolation. -</p> -<p> -Before he left, Jamie visited a sheltered nook in Tochty woods, and when -he inquired for Lily Grant next day at the door of a London West-End -house, there was a bunch of fresh primroses in his hand. -</p> -<p> -“Disna live here noo, did ye say? then what hae ye dune wi' Lily? a' maun -get tae the boddom o' this,” and Jamie passed into the hall, the majestic -personage at the door having no strength left to resist. -</p> -<p> -“Tell yir mistress this meenut that a freend hes come frae Drumtochty tae -ask news of Lily Grant, an' wull wait till he gets them,” and Jamie's -personality was so irresistible that the personage counselled an immediate -audience. -</p> -<p> -“Grant's father, I suppose?” began Lily's mistress, with suspicious -fluency. “No? Ah, then, some relative, no doubt? how good of you to call, -and so convenient, too, for I wanted to see some of her family. She was an -excellent servant, and so nice in the house; the others were quite devoted -to her. But I never thought her strong. Don't you think London is trying -to country-girls?” - </p> -<p> -Jamie did not offer any opinion. -</p> -<p> -“One of the children caught that horrid scarlet fever, and in the -beginning of August, of all times, when we were going down to Scotland. -Some of the servants had left, and the child had to be nursed here; there -was lots of work, and it fell on Grant. -</p> -<p> -“She was going at that very time to her home—Drum something or -other; or was it Ben?—it's always the one or the other when it isn't -Mac.” - </p> -<p> -“Drumtochty is the name o' Lily's hame, an' her auld grandmither wes -lookin' for her aifter three years' service.” - </p> -<p> -“Quite so; and that 's just what I said to her. 'Take your holiday, Grant, -and we'll worry on somehow,' but she wouldn't go. We thought it so pretty -of her, for servants are generally so selfish; and she really did -wonderfully, as much as three women, do you know?” - </p> -<p> -“If it wudna hurry ye, wud ye tell me her address in London?” - </p> -<p> -“Of course; I 'm coming to that, but I felt you would like to hear all -about her, for we had a great idea of Grant. It was a cold it began with, -and one day I heard her coughing, and told her she must positively see a -doctor; but Grant was very obstinate at times, and she never went.” - </p> -<p> -“It's possible that she didna ken ane. An' what cam o' her cough?” - </p> -<p> -“It was too dreadful, and they ought not to have taken me to the room. I -could not sleep all night. Grant had broken a blood-vessel, and they -thought she was dying.” - </p> -<p> -“Is Lily deid?” demanded Jamie. -</p> -<p> -“Oh no; how could you fancy such a thing? But our doctor said it was a -very bad case, and that she could not live above a week. We were desolated -to part with her, but of course she could not remain,—I mean, we -knew she would receive more attention in a hospital. So you understand——” - </p> -<p> -“A' dae,” broke in Jamie, “fine; Lily workit for you an' yir bairns in a -time o' need till a' the strength she brocht wi' her wes gane, an' then, -when she wes like tae dee, ye turned her oot as ye wudna hae dune wi' ane -o' yir horses. Ye 've a graund hoose an' cairry a high heid, but ye 've a -puir, meeserable cratur, no worthy to be compared wi' the lass ye hev dune -tae deith.” - </p> -<p> -“You have no right——” but Jamie's eyes went through her and -she fell away; “she can—have her wages for—two months.” - </p> -<p> -“No one penny o' yir siller wull she touch beyond her lawful due; gie me -the name o' the hospital, an' a 'll tak care o' oor puir lass ma-sel.” - </p> -<p> -When Jamie was told at the hospital that Lily had been taken away again in -the ambulance next day to the house of the visiting physician, his wrath -had no restraint. -</p> -<p> -“Is there nae place in this ceety whar a freendless lassie can rest till -she gaes tae her laist hame?” and Jamie set off for the physician, -refusing to hear any explanation. -</p> -<p> -“Hev a' an appointment wi' Sir Andra? Yes, a' hev, an' for this verra -meenut.” So again he got access, for the virile strength that was in him. -</p> -<p> -“We have done all we could for her, but she has only a day to live,” said -Sir Andrew, a little man, with the manner of a great heart; “she will be -glad to see you, for the lassie has been wearying for a sight of some kent -face.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye 're Scotch,” said Jamie, as they went upstairs, softening and -beginning to suspect that he might be mistaken about things for once in -his life; “hoo did ye bring Lily tae yir ain hoose?” - </p> -<p> -“Never mind that just now,” said Sir Andrew. “Wait till I prepare Lily for -your coming,” and Jamie owned the sudden tone of authority.' -</p> -<p> -“One of your old friends has come to see you, Lily”—Jamie noted how -gentle and caressing was the voice—“but you must not speak above a -whisper nor excite yourself. Just step into the next room, nurse.” - </p> -<p> -“Jamie,” and a flush of joy came over the pale, thin face, that he would -hardly have recognised, “this is gude... o' ye... tae come sae far,... a' -wes wantin'... tae see a Drumtochty face afore a'-” Then the tears choked -her words. -</p> -<p> -“Ou ay,” began Jamie with deliberation. “You see a' wes up lookin' aifter -some o' Drumsheugh's fat cattle that he sent aff tae the London market, so -of course a' cudna be here withoot giein' ye a cry. -</p> -<p> -“It wes a ploy tae find ye, just like hide-an'-seek, but, ma certes, ye -hev got a fine hame at laist,” and Jamie appraised the dainty bed, the -soft carpet, the little table with ice and fruit and flowers, at their -untold value of kindness. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye no ken, Jamie, that a'm——” But Lily still found the -words hard to say at three-and-twenty. -</p> -<p> -“Ye mean that ye hevna been takin' care o' yirsel, an' a' can see that -masel,” but he was looking everywhere except at Lily, who was waiting to -catch his eye. “Ye 'ill need to gither yir strength again an' come back -wi' me tae Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -“Ye ken whar thae floors grew, Lily,” and -</p> -<p> -Jamie hastily produced his primroses; “a' thocht ye micht like a sicht o' -them.” - </p> -<p> -“Doon ablow the Lodge in the Tochty woods.... whar the river taks a -turn... an' the sun is shinin' bonnie noo... an' a birk stands abune the -bank an' dips intae the water.” - </p> -<p> -“The verra place, a couthy corner whar the first primroses coom oot. Ye -hevna forgot the auld Glen, Lily. Dinna greet, lassie, or Sir An-dra 'ill -be angry. Ye may be sure he 'ill dae a' he can for ye.” - </p> -<p> -“He hes, Jamie, an' mair than a' can tell; a' wud like Grannie an'... the -fouk tae ken hoo a 'ave been treated... as if a' wes a leddy, an' his ain -blude. -</p> -<p> -“When they laid me in the bed at the hospital, an' a' githered that... it -wudna be lang, an' awfu' longin' cam intae ma hert... for a quiet place -tae... dee in. -</p> -<p> -“It was a graund airy room, an' everybody wes kind, an' a' hed a'thing ye -cud wish for, but... it gied against ma nature tae... wi' a' thae -strangers in the room; oor hooses are wee, but they 're oor ain.” - </p> -<p> -Jamie nodded; he appreciated the horror of dying in a public place. -</p> -<p> -“Sir Andra cam roond and heard the accoont, an' he saw me greetin'—a' -cudna help it, Jamie,—an' he read ma name at the tap o' the bed. -</p> -<p> -“'You 're from my country,' he said, but he didna need tae tell me, for a' -caught the soond in his voice, an' ma hert warmed; 'don't be cast down, -Lily;' a' coontit it kind tae use ma name; 'we 'ill do all we can for -you.' -</p> -<p> -“'A' ken a'm deein',' a' said, 'an' a'm no feared, but a' canna thole the -thocht o' slippin' awa in a hospital; it wud hae been different at hame.' -</p> -<p> -“'Ye 'ill no want a hame here, Lily;' it wes braid Scotch noo, an' it -never soonded sae sweet; “an', Jamie”—here the whisper was so low, -Jamie had to bend his head—“a' saw the tears in his een.” - </p> -<p> -“Rest a wee, Lily; a 'm followin'; sae he took ye tae his ain hoose an' -pit ye in the best room, an' they've waitit on ye as if ye were his ain -dochter;... ye dinna need tae speak; a' wudna say but Sir Andra micht be a -Christian o' the auld kind, a' mean, 'I was a stranger, and ye took Me -in.'” - </p> -<p> -“Jamie,” whispered Lily, before he left, “there's juist ae thing hurtin' -me a wee; it's the wy ma mistress... hes treated me. A' tried tae be -faithfu', though maybe a' didna answer the bells sae quick the laist sax -months,... an' a' thocht she micht... hae peetied a lone cratur mair. -</p> -<p> -“It's no that a' hev ony cause o' complaint aboot wages or keep—a' -wes twice raised, Jamie, an' hed a'thing a' needed, an' a'm no hurt aboot -bein' cairried tae the hospital, for there were five stairs tae ma room, -an'... it wudna hae been handy tae wait on me. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, Jamie, a'm no onreasonable, but... a' houpit she wud hae come tae -see me or... sent a bit word; gin a body's sober (weak) like me, ye like -tae be remembered; it... minds you o' the luve o' God, Jamie,” and Lily -turned her face away. “A' wes prayin' tae see a Drumtochty face aince -mair, an' a've gotten that, an' gin ma mistress hed juist said,... “Ye've -dune as weel as ye cud,... a' wudna ask mair.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye hae't then, Lily,” said Jamie, takingan instant resolution, “for a've -been tae see yir mistress, an' a' wes fair... ashamed the wy she spoke -aboot ye, being Drumtochty masel, an' no' wantin' tae show pride. -</p> -<p> -“As sure 's a'm here, she cudna find words for her thochts o' ye; it wes -naethin' but yir faithfulness an' yir gude wark, hoo a'body liket ye an' -hoo gratefu' she wes to you. A' wes that affeckit that a' hed tae leave. -</p> -<p> -“What wud ye say, wumman, gin yon graund lady hes been twice a-day at the -hospital speirin' for you, kerridge an' a', mind ye; but ye ken they 're -terrible busy in thae places, an' canna aye get time tae cairry the -messages. -</p> -<p> -“But that's no a',” for the glow on Lily's face was kindling Jamie's -inspiration, and he saw no use for economy in a good work. “What think ye -o' this for a luck-penny? twenty pund exact, an' a' in goud; it looks -bonnie glintin' in the licht,” and Jamie emptied on the table the store of -sovereigns he had brought from Muirtown bank, without shame. -</p> -<p> -“The mistress surely never sent that... tae me?” Lily whispered. -</p> -<p> -“Maybe a' pickit it up on the street; they think awa in the country the -verra streets are goud here. 'Give her this from us all,' were her verra -words,” said Jamie, whose conscience had abandoned the unequal struggle -with his heart. “'Tell her that she's to get whatever she likes with it, -and to go down to her home for a long holiday.'” - </p> -<p> -“Did ye thank her, Jamie? Nae man hes a better tongue.” - </p> -<p> -“Ma tongue never servit me better; sall, ye wud hae been astonished gin ye -hed herd me,” with the emphasis of one who stood at last on the rock of -truth. -</p> -<p> -“A'm rael content noo,” Lily said, “but a' canna speak mair, an' a've -something tae say that 'ill no keep till the morn.” and Jamie promised to -return that evening. -</p> -<p> -Jamie waited in the hall till the last of the famous physician's patients -had gone; then he went in and said: -</p> -<p> -“When a' entered this hoose ma hert wes sair, for a' thocht a defenceless -lassie hed been ill-used in her straits, an' noo a' wud like to apologeese -for ma hot words. Ye've dune a gude work the day that's no for the like o' -me to speak aboot, but it 'ill hae its reward frae the Father o' the -fatherless.” - </p> -<p> -“Toots, man, what nonsense is this you 're talking?” said Sir Andrew; “you -don't understand the situation. The fact is, I wanted to study Lily's -case, and it was handier to have her in my house. Just medical -selfishness, you know.” - </p> -<p> -“A' micht hae thocht o' that,” and the intelligence in Jamie's eye was so -sympathetic that Sir Andrew quailed before it. “We hev a doctor in oor -pairish that's yir verra marra (equal), aye practeesin' on the sick fouk, -and for lookin' aifter himsel he passes belief.” - </p> -<p> -“Juist Weelum Maclure ower again,” Jamie meditated, as he went along the -street. “London or Drumtochty, great physeecian or puir country doctor, -there's no ane o' them tae mend anither for doonricht gudeness. There's -naebody 'ill hae a chance wi' them at the latter end; an' for leein' tae, -a' believe Sir Andra wud beat Weelum himsel.” - </p> -<p> -When Jamie returned, Lily had arranged her store of gold in little heaps, -and began at once to give directions. -</p> -<p> -“Ye maun py ma debts first, ye ken, Jamie; a' cudna... leave, thinkin' -thpit a' wes awin' a penny tae onybody. Grannie aye brocht us up tae live -sae that we cud look a'body in the face, and exceptin' Chairlie.... -</p> -<p> -“Twal shilling tae the shoemaker, an honest, well-daein' man; mony a time -he's telt me aboot John Wesley: and a pund tae the dressmaker; it's no a' -for masel; there wes anither Scotch lassie,... but that disna maitter. Cud -ye pay thae accounts the nicht, for the dressmaker 'ill be needin' her -money?... It wes ma tribble hindered me;... a' started ae day, an' the -catch in ma side,... a' hed tae come back. -</p> -<p> -“Noo there 's ma kirk, an' we maunna forget it, for a 've been rael happy -there; ma sittin' wes due the beginnin' o' the month, and a' aye gied ten -shillings tae the missions; an', Jamie, they were speakin' o' presentin' -the minister wi' some bit token o' respect aifter bein' twenty-five years -here. Pit me doon for a pund—no ma name, ye ken; that wud be -forward; juist... 'A gratefu' servant lass.' -</p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill get some bonnie hankerchief or siclike for the nurse; it wudna -dae tae offer her siller; an' dinna forget the hoosemaid, for she's hed a -sair trachle wi' me. As for Sir Andra,... naething can py him. -</p> -<p> -“Here's five pund, and ye 'ill gie't tae Grannie; she kens wha it's for; -it 'ill juist feenish the debt... -</p> -<p> -“Ye can haud yir tongue, Jamie. Wull ye write a line tae Chairlie, an' -say... that a' wes thinkin' o' him at the end, an' expectin' him tae be a -credit tae his fouk... some day; an', Jamie, gin he ever come back in his -richt mind tae the Glen, ye 'ill... no be hard on him like ye wes laist -time?” - </p> -<p> -“Chairlie 'ill no want a freend gin a' be leevin', Lily; is that a'? for -ye 're tirin' yersel.” - </p> -<p> -“There's ae thing mair, but a'm dootin' it's no richt o' me tae waste -Grannie's siller on't, for a' wantit tae leave her somethin' wiselike;... -but, O Jamie, a've taken a longin'... tae lie in Drumtochty kirkyaird wi' -ma mither an' Grannie. -</p> -<p> -“A' ken it's a notion, but a' dinna like thae cemetairies wi' their gravel -roadies, an' their big monuments, an' the croods o' careless fouk, an' the -hooses pressin' on them frae every side.” - </p> -<p> -“A' promised Mary,” broke in Jamie, “that a' wud bring ye hame, an a 'll -keep ma word, Lily; gin it be God's wull tae tak yir soul tae Himsel, yir -body 'ill be laid wi' yir ain fouk,” and Jamie left hurriedly. -</p> -<p> -Next morning Sir Andrew and the minister were standing by Lily's bedside, -and only looked at him when he joined them. -</p> -<p> -“Jamie,... thank ye a',... ower gude tae... a servant lass,... tell -them... at hame.” - </p> -<p> -Each man bade her good-bye, and the minister said certain words which -shall not be written. -</p> -<p> -“Thae... weary stairs,” and she breathed heavily for a time; then, with a -sigh of relief, “A'm comin'.” - </p> -<p> -“Lily has reached the... landing,” said Sir Andrew, and as they went -downstairs no man would have looked at his neighbour's face for a ransom. -</p> -<p> -“A' wrote that verra nicht tae Drumsheugh,” Jamie explained to our guard -between the Junction and Kildrummie; “an a 'm no sure but he 'ill be doon -himsel wi' a neebur or twa juist tae gie Lily a respectable funeral, for -she hes nae man o' her bluide tae come. -</p> -<p> -“Div ye see onything, Peter?” Jamie was in a fever of anxiety; “the -Kildrummie hearse stands heich, an' it sud be there, besides the -mourners.” - </p> -<p> -“Kildrummie platform's black,” cried Peter from the footboard; “the 'ill -be twal gin there be a man; ye stick by ane anither weel up the wy; it's -no often a servant is brocht hame for beerial; a' dinna mind a case sin -the line opened.” - </p> -<p> -While they went through Kildrummie, Jamie walked alone behind the hearse -as chief mourner, with a jealously regulated space of five feet between -him and the neighbours; but as soon as the pine woods had swallowed up the -procession, he dropped behind, and was once more approachable. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 've had a time o 't,” said Hillocks, treating Jamie as an ordinary man -again; “wha wud hae thocht this wes tae be the end o' yir London jaunt? -Sall!” and Hillocks felt himself unable to grapple with the situation. -</p> -<p> -“This is juist naethin',” with vague allusion to the arrival by railway -and the Kildrummie hearse; “no worth mentionin' wi' the beginnin' o' the -beerial at the ither end,” and Jamie chose Whinnie's box, out of three -offered, to brace him for descriptive narrative. -</p> -<p> -“Ye maun understand,” began Jamie, knowing that he had at least four miles -before it would be necessary for him to resume his position of solitary -dignity, “that as sune as Lily turned ill she was taken tae the hoose o' a -great London doctor, an' Sir Andra waited on her himsel; there 's maybe -no' anither o' his patients withoot a title; a' herd him speak o' a -Duchess ae day. -</p> -<p> -“When it wes a' over, puir lassie, if they didna fecht tae py for the -beerial. The minister threipit wi' me that he hed a fund at his kirk for -sic objects, a sonsy man wi' a face that pit ye in mind o' hame to look at -it, but a' saw through his fund; it 's fearsome hoo Scotch folk 'ill lee -tae cover gude deeds.” - </p> -<p> -“Div ye think he wud hae py'd it oot o' his ain pocket?” interrupted -Hillocks. -</p> -<p> -“'Na, na,' at' said tae the minister,' for Hillocks was beneath notice, -'ye maun lat her mistress bear the beerial '—twenty pund, as a'm on -this road, she gied; 'a faithfu' servant, she 's tae want for nothing;' it -wes handsome, an' 'ill be maist comfortin' tae Mary. -</p> -<p> -“Ye saw the coffin for yersels,” and Jamie now gave himself to details; -“the London hearse hed gless sides and twa horses, then a mourning-coach -wi' the minister an' me; but that's the least o 't. What think ye cam -next?” - </p> -<p> -“Some o' the neeburs walkin' maybe,” suggested Whinnie. -</p> -<p> -“Walkin',” repeated Jamie, with much bitterness, as of one who despaired -of Drumtochty, and saw no use in wasting his breath; “juist so: ye 've hed -mair rain here than in England.” - </p> -<p> -“Never mind Whinnie, Jamie,” intervened Drumsheugh; “we maun hae the rest -o' the funeral; wes there another coach?” - </p> -<p> -“What wud ye say,” and Jamie spoke with much solemnity, “tae a private -kerridge, an' mair than ane? Ay, ye may look.” allowing himself some -freedom of recollection. “Sir Andra's wes next tae the coach, wi' the -blinds drawn doon, and aifter it an elder's frae her kirk. He heard o' -Lily through the minister, an' naething wud sateesfy him but tae dae her -sic honour as he cud. -</p> -<p> -“Gaein' roond the corners o' the streets—a' cudna help it, neeburs—a' -juist took a glisk oot at the window, an' when a' saw the banker's horses -wi' the silver harness, a' wushed ye hed been there; sic respect tae a -Drumtochty lass. -</p> -<p> -“Ye saw the lilies on the coffin,” wound up Jamie, doing his best to -maintain a chastened tone. “Did ye catch the writin'— -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -' <i>In remembrance of Lily Grant, - -Who did her duty.</i>' -</pre> -<p> -Sir Andra's ain hand; an' Lily got nae mair than her due.” - </p> -<p> -When Jamie parted with Drumsheugh on the way home, and turned down the -road to Mary's cottage, to give her the lilies and a full account of her -lassie, Drumsheugh watched him till he disappeared. -</p> -<p> -“Thirty pund wes what he drew frae the Muirtown bank oot o' his savings, -for the clerk telt me himsel, and naebody jalouses the trick. It 's the -cleverest thing Jamie ever did, an' ane o' the best a've seen in -Drumtochty.” - </p> -<p> -Drumtochty had a legitimate curiosity regarding the history of any new -tenant, and Hillocks was invaluable on such occasion, being able to -collect a complete biography during a casual conversation on the state of -markets. No details of family or business were left out in the end, but -there was an unwritten law of precedence, and Hillocks himself would not -have condescended on the rent till he had satisfied himself as to the -incomer's religion. Church connection was universal and unalterable in the -Glen. When Lachlan Campbell had his argument with Carmichael, he still sat -in his place in the Free Kirk, and although Peter Macintosh absented -himself for a month from the Parish Kirk over the pew question, he was -careful to explain to the doctor that he had not forgotten himself so far -as to become a renegade. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na, a'm no coming back,” Peter had said after the doctor had done his -best, “till ye 're dune wi' that stove, an' ye needna prig (plead) wi' me -ony langer. What is the gude o' being a Presbyterian gin ye canna object? -but a 'll give ye this sateesfaction, that though fa' dinna darken the -kirk door for the lave o' ma life, a 'll no gang ony ither place.” - </p> -<p> -An immigrant was the only change in our church circles, and the kirkyard -waited for the news of Milton's creed with appreciable interest. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, Hillocks?” inquired Drumsheugh, considering it unnecessary in the -circumstances to define his question. -</p> -<p> -“Ou aye,” for Hillocks accepted his responsibility, “a' gied Tammas Bisset -a cry laist Friday, him 'at hes the grocer's shop in the Sooth Street an' -a' the news o' Muirtown, juist tae hear the price o' butter, and a' -happened tae licht on Milton an' tae say he wud be an addee-tion tae oor -kirk.” - </p> -<p> -“Did ye though?” cried Whinnie, in admiration of Hillocks's opening move; -“that wes rael cannie, but hoo did ye ken?” - </p> -<p> -“'Gin he be a help tae Drumtochty Kirk,' says Tammas”—Hillocks never -turned out of his way for Whinnie—“'it 's mair than he wes tae the -Auld Kirk here in twenty year.'” - </p> -<p> -“The Free Kirk 'ill be pleased then,” broke in Whinnie, who was -incorrigible; “they 'ill mak him a deacon: they're terrible for the -Sustentation Fund.” - </p> -<p> -“'It's no lost, Tammas, that a freend gets,' says I,” continued Hillocks, -“'an' we 'ill no grudge him tae the Free Kirk; na, na, we're no sae -veecious that wy in the Glen as ye are in Muirtown. Ilka man sud hae his -ain principle and py his debts. -</p> -<p> -“' He coonted the Free Kirk waur than the auld here, an' a'm thinkin' he's -ower pleased wi' himself tae change up by; he 'ill show ye some new -fashions, a'm judgin',' says Tammas.” And Hillocks ceased, that the -fathers might face the prospect of a new religion. -</p> -<p> -“It 's no chancy,” observed Whinnie, collecting their mind. -</p> -<p> -“There wes a man doon Dunleith wy in ma father's time,” began Drumsheugh, -ransacking ancient history for parallels, “'at wud hae naethin' tae dae -wi' kirks. He preached himsel in the kitchen, an' bapteezed his faimily in -the mill dam. They ca'd him a dookie (Baptist), but a 've heard there's -mair than ae kind; what wud he be, Jamie?” - </p> -<p> -“Parteeklar Baptist,” replied that oracle; “he buried his wife in the -stackyaird, an' opened vials for a year; gin Milton be o' that persuasion, -it 'ill be a variety in the Glen; it 'ill keep's frae wearyin'.” - </p> -<p> -“The Dunleith man aye paid twenty shillings in the pund, at ony rate,” - Drumsheugh wound up, “an' his word wi' a horse wes a warranty: a' dinna -like orra releegions masel, but the 'll aye be some camsteary -(unmanageable) craturs in the warld,” and the kirkyard tried to be -hopeful. -</p> -<p> -Milton's first visit to the kirk was disappointing, and stretched -Drumtochty's courtesy near unto the breaking. Hillocks, indeed, read -Milton's future career in his conduct that day, and indulged in mournful -prophecies at the smiddy next evening. -</p> -<p> -“Ye're richt eneuch, smith; that's juist what he did, an' a' took his -measure that meenut. When he telt Drumsheugh that it wes nae time tae be -speakin' o' hairst at the kirk door, an' offered us a bookie each, a' saw -there wes somethin' far wrang wi' him. As sure as a'm stannin' here, he -'ill be a tribble in the pairish. -</p> -<p> -“The Milton seat is afore oors, an' a' saw a' he did, frae the beginnin' -o' the sermon tae the end, an' a' tell ye his conduct wes scandalous. Ae -meenut he wud shak his head at the doctor, as if he kent better than the -verra minister; the next he wud be fleein' through his Bible aifter a -text. He wes never at peace, naither sittin' nor standin'; he's juist an -etter-cap. There's nae peace whar yon man is, a 'll warrant; a' never -closed an ee laist Sabbath.” - </p> -<p> -It was into Jamie's hands Milton fell when he reviewed the sermon on the -way home, and expressed his suspicion of ministers who selected texts on -subjects like Mercy and Justice. -</p> -<p> -“We aye get that sermon aboot the latter end o' hairst, Milton, an' it's -pop'lar; the fouk hae a great notion o' a gude life up here, an' they 're -ill tae change. A'm no sayin' but ye 're richt, though, an' it 'ill be a -help tae hae yir creeticism. -</p> -<p> -“Drumtochty is clean infatuat aboot the doctor, an' canna see onything -wrang in him. He's been a' his days in the Glen, an' though he's no sae -stirrin' as he micht be, the mischief o't is that he aye lives a' he -preaches, an' the stupid bodies canna see the want. -</p> -<p> -“As for texts, the doctor 's nae doot aggravatin'; there's times a've -wanted tae hae the Sermon on the Mount torn oot o' the Bible an' gude bits -o' the Prophets; he's aye flingin' them in oor faces. Milton, a' tell ye,” - and Jamie stood still on the road to give solemnity to his description of -Doctor Davidson's defects, “if there's a moral text atween the boords o' -the Bible, he 'ill hae a haud o 't.” - </p> -<p> -“A'm rael pleased tae hear sic soond views, Mister—” - </p> -<p> -“Soutar is ma name—Jamie maist commonly.” - </p> -<p> -“Soutar,” and Milton might be excused falling into the snare, “ye ken the -difference atween a show o' warks an' the root o' the maitter. A' wes -astonished at yir elder; when a' pointed oot the defects in the sermon, he -said, 'Gin we dae a' the doctor telt us, we 'ill no be far wrang;' ye -micht as weel be a heathen.' -</p> -<p> -“Drumsheugh is nae standard,” Jamie explained; “he's sae begottit (taken -up) wi' the commandments that a'm feared o' him. He's clever at a bargain, -but gin he thocht he hed cheatit onybody, Drumsheugh wudna sleep; it 's -clean legalism. -</p> -<p> -“Ye micht try the Free Kirk, Milton; they 've a new man, an' he 's warmer -than the doctor; he 's fund oot anither Isaiah, an' he's sae learned that -he 'ill maybe hae twa Robbie Burns' yet; but that 's naither here nor -there; he's young an' fu' o' speerit; gie him a trial,” Jamie discovered -with much interest that Milton had been examining the Free Church, and had -expressed his strong dissatisfaction, some said because of grossly -erroneous doctrine, others because Carmichael had refused to allow him to -preach. Doctrine was the ground he alleged to Jamie, who looked in to see -how he had got settled and what he thought of things. -</p> -<p> -“A' peety this Glen,” he said, with solemnity; “ae place it 's cauld -morality, an' the ither it's fause teaching. Div ye ken what a' heard wi' -ma ain ears laist Sabbath frae Maister Carmichael?” - </p> -<p> -Jamie was understood to declare his conviction that a man who was not -satisfied with one Isaiah might be capable of anything. -</p> -<p> -“Ye ken verra weel,” for Milton believed Jamie a kindred spirit at this -stage, “that we 're a' here on probation, and that few are chosen, juist a -handfu' here and there; no on accoont o' ony excellence in oorsels, so we -maunna boast.” - </p> -<p> -“Verra comfortin' for the handfu',” murmured Jamie, his eyes fixed on the -roof. -</p> -<p> -“Weel, gin yon young man didna declare in sae mony words that we were a' -God's bairns, an' that He wes gaein' tae dae the best He cud wi' every ane -o's. What think ye o' that?—nae difference atween the elect an' the -ithers, nae preeveleges nor advantages; it's against baith scriptur an' -reason.” - </p> -<p> -“He wes maybe mixin' up the Almichty wi' his ain father,” suggested Jamie; -“a 've heard ignorant fouk say that a' the differ is that the Almichty is -no waur than oor ain father, but oot o' a' sicht kinder. But whar wud ye -be gin ye allooed the like o' that? half o' the doctrines wud hae tae be -reformed,” and Jamie departed, full of condolence with Milton. -</p> -<p> -It was not wonderful after these trying experiences that Milton became a -separatist, and edified himself and his household in his kitchen. -</p> -<p> -Perhaps the Glen might also be excused on their part for taking a somewhat -severe view of this schismatic proceeding and being greatly stirred by a -sermon of the doctor's—prepared especially for the occasion—in -which the sin of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram was powerfully expounded, and -Milton's corn room described as a “Plymouthistic hut.” - </p> -<p> -“Ma certes,” said Hillocks to Jamie on the way home, “the doctor's roosed. -Yon wes an awfu' name he cam oot wi'; it's no verra cannie tae hae -onything tae dae wi' thae preachin', paitterin' craturs.” - </p> -<p> -“There wes a sough through the pairish, Hillocks, that ye were ower by -sittin' in the cauf-hoose (chaff-house) yersel laist week, an' that ye -were extraordinar' ta'en up wi' Milton. Elspeth Macfadyen wes threipin' -(insisting) that you an' Milton were thinkin' o' starting a new kirk. -Miltonites wud be a graund name; a' dinna think it 's been used yet.” - </p> -<p> -“Elspeth's tongue's nae scannel.” Hillocks's curiosity had led him astray, -and he was now much ashamed. “A' juist lookit in ae forenicht tae see what -kin o' collie-shangie Milton wes cairryin' on, an' a' wes fair disgustit. -He ran the hale time frae Daniel tae the Revelations, an' it wes a' aboot -beasts frae beginnin' tae end. A rammelin' idiot, nae-thin' else,” and -Hillocks offered up Milton as a sacrifice to the indignation of the Glen. -</p> -<p> -Shortly afterwards Hillocks began to make dark allusions that excited a -distinct interest, and invested his conversation with a piquant flavour. -</p> -<p> -“It wes an ill day when his lordship lat yon man intae the pairish,” and -he shook his head with an air of gloomy mystery. “A' wush a' saw him oot o -'t withoot mischief. Oor fouk hev been weel brocht up, an' they 're no -what ye wud ca' simple, but there s nae sayin'; weemen are easily -carried.” - </p> -<p> -“Ay, ay,” said Jamie encouragingly. -</p> -<p> -“A'm telt,” continued Hillocks, “that the wratches are that cunnin' an' -plausible they wud wile a bird aff a tree; they got intae a pairish in the -Carse, and afore the year wes oot gin they didna whup aff three servant -lassies tae Ameriky.” - </p> -<p> -“Div ye mean tae say that Milton...” and the fathers noticed how Jamie was -guiding Hillocks to his point. -</p> -<p> -“Ye've said the word, Jamie, an' it's a gey like business for Drumtochty,” - and it was known in twenty-four hours up as far as Glen Urtach that -Hillocks had hunted Milton's religion to earth, and found him out to be a -Morman. -</p> -<p> -This was considered one of Jamie's most successful efforts, and the Glen -derived so much pure delight from the very sight of Milton for some weeks -that he might have become popular had it not been for an amazing -combination of qualities. -</p> -<p> -“His tracts are irritatin', an' no what we've been accustomed tae in -Drumtochty”—Drums-heugh was giving judgment in the kirkyard—“but -a' cud thole them. What a' canna pit up wi' is his whinin' an' leein'. A' -never heard as muckle aboot conscience an' never saw sae little o't in -this pairish.” - </p> -<p> -It was a tribute in its way to Milton that he alone of all men aroused the -dislike of the kindest of parishes, so that men fled from before his face. -Hillocks, who was never happy unless he had two extra on his dogcart, and -unto that end only drew the line at tramps, would pass with a bare -compliment on board, and drop the scantiest salutation. -</p> -<p> -“Hoo are ye the day, Milton? a' doot it's threatenin' a shoor.” - </p> -<p> -Drumsheugh had been known to disappear into a potato field at Milton's -approach, under pretence of examining the tubers, while Bumbrae, who was -incarnate charity, and prejudiced in favour of anything calling itself -religion, abandoned this “professor” in regretful silence. Drumtochty was -careful not to seat themselves in the third until Milton had taken his -place, when they chose another compartment, until at last Peter used to -put in this superior man with Kildrummie to avoid delay. It was long -before Milton realised that Drumtochty did not consider his company a -privilege, and then he was much lifted, seeing clearly the working of -conscience in a benighted district. -</p> -<p> -“Milton hes been giein' oot in Muirtown that he's thankfu' he wes sent tae -Drumtochty,” Jamie announced one Sabbath, with chastened delight, “an' -that his example wes affectin' us already. 'They daurna face me in the -verra train,' says he tae Tammas Bisset; 'it's the first time yon fouk -ever came across a speeritual man. They're beginnin' tae revile, an' we -ken what that means; a' never thocht a' wud hae the honour of persecution -for righteousness' sake.' That 's his ain mind on't, an' it's a comfort -tae think that Milton's contented.” - </p> -<p> -“A've kent anc or twa fair leears in ma time,” reflected Hillocks, “but -for a bare-face—” - </p> -<p> -“Persecuted is a lairge word,” broke in Drumsheugh, “ay, an' a graund tae, -an' no fit for Milton's mooth. Gin he named it tae me, a'd teach him -anither story. A foumart (pole cat) micht as weel speak o' persecution -when he's hunted aff the hillside. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na,” and Drumsheugh set himself to state the case once for all, “we -'ve oor faults maybe in Drumtochty,” going as far by way of concession as -could be expected, “but we 're no juist born fules; we 've as muckle sense -as the chuckies, 'at ken the differ atween corn an' chaff wi' a luke.” - </p> -<p> -Jamie indicated by a nod that Drumsheugh was on the track. -</p> -<p> -“Noo there's ane o' oor neeburs,” proceeding to illustration, “'at -lectures against drink frae ae new year tae anither. He's a true man, an' -he luves the Glen, an' naebody 'ill say an ill word o' Airchie Moncur—no -in this kirk-yaird at ony rate.” - </p> -<p> -“A fine bit craiturie,” interjected Hillocks, whom Archie had often -besought in vain to take the pledge for example's sake, being an elder. -</p> -<p> -“Weel,” resumed Drumsheugh, “there's anither neebur, an' a 'm telt that -his prayer is little ahint the minister's at the Free Kirk meetin's, and -a' believe it, for a gude life is bund tae yield a good prayer. Is there a -man here that wudna be gled tae stand wi' Burnbrae in the Jidgment?” - </p> -<p> -“A'm intendin' tae keep as close as a' can masel,” said Jamie, and there -was a general feeling that it would be a wise line. -</p> -<p> -“It's no Milton's preachin' Drumtochty disna like, but his leein', an' -that Drumtochty canna abide. Nae man,” summed up Drumsheugh, “hes ony -richt tae speak aboot re-leegion ye canna trust in the market.” - </p> -<p> -So it came to pass that Milton counted Drumtochty as an outcast place, -because they did not speak about the affairs of the life to come, and -Drumtochty would have nothing to do with Milton, because he was not -straight in the affairs of the life which now is. Milton might have gone -down to the grave condemning and condemned had it not been for his sore -sickness, which brought him to the dust of death, and afforded Drumsheugh -the opportunity for his most beneficent achievement. -</p> -<p> -“They think he may come roond wi' care,” reported Drumsheugh, “but he 'ill -be wakely for twa month, an' he'ill never be the same man again; it's been -a terrible whup.” But the kirkyard, for the first time in such -circumstances, was not sympathetic. -</p> -<p> -“It's a mercy he's no been taken awa,” responded Hillocks, after a -distinct pause, “an' it 'ill maybe be a warnin' tae him; he's no been unco -freendly sin he cam intae the Glen, either wi' his tongue or his hands.” - </p> -<p> -“A'm no sayin' he hes, Hillocks, but it's no a time tae cuist up a man's -fauts when he's in tribble, an' it's no the wy we've hed in Drumtochty. -Milton's no fit tae meddle wi' ony-body noo, nor, for that maitter, tae -manage his ain business. There's no mair than twa, acre seen the ploo; a'm -dootin' the 'll be a puir sowin' time next spring at Milton.” - </p> -<p> -“Gin he hedna been sic a creetical an' ill-tongued body the Glen wud sune -hae cleared up his stubble; div ye mind when Netherton lost his horses wi' -the glanders, an' we jined an' did his plooin'? it wes a wise-like day's -wark.” - </p> -<p> -“Yir hert's in the richt place,” said Drums-heugh, ignoring -qualifications; “we'll haud a plooin' match at Milton, an' gie the cratur -a helpin' hand. A'm willin' tae stand ae prize, an' Burnbrae 'ill no be -behind; a' wudna say but Hillocks himsel micht come oot wi' a five -shillin' bit.” - </p> -<p> -They helped Milton out of bed next Thursday, and he sat in silence at a -gable window that commanded the bare fields. Twenty ploughs were cutting -the stubble into brown ridges, and the crows followed the men as they -guided the shares with stiff resisting body, while Drumsheugh could be -seen going from field to field with authority. -</p> -<p> -“What's this for?” inquired Milton at length; “naebody askit them, an'... -them an' me hevna been pack (friendly) thae laist twa years.” - </p> -<p> -“It's a love-darg,” said his wife, “because ye've been sober (ill), they -juist want to show kindness, bein' oor neeburs. Drumsheugh, a' hear, set -it agaein', but there's no a fairmer in the Glen hesna a hand in't wi' -horses or sic-like.” - </p> -<p> -Milton made no remark, but he was thinking, and an hour before midday he -called for his wife. -</p> -<p> -“It's rael gude o' them, an', wumman, it's mair than... a' wud hae dune -for them. An', Eesie,... gither a'thing thegither ye can get, and gie the -men a richt dinner, and bid Jeemes see that every horse hes a feed o' -corn... a full ane; dinna spare onything the day.” - </p> -<p> -It was a point of honour on such occasions that food for man and beast -should be brought with them, so that there be no charge on their -neighbour, but Drumsheugh was none the less impressed by Milton's generous -intentions. When he told Hillocks, who was acting as his aide-de-camp, -that worthy exclaimed, “Michty,” and both Drumsheugh and Hillocks realised -that a work of grace had begun in Milton. -</p> -<p> -He refused to lie down till the men and horses went out again to work, and -indeed one could not see in its own way a more heartening sight. Pair by -pair our best horses passed, each with their own ploughman, and in a -certain order, beginning with Saunders, Drumsheugh's foreman, full of -majesty at the head of the parish, and concluding with the pair of hardy -little beasts that worked the uplands of Bogleigh. A fortnight had been -spent on preparation, till every scrap of brass on the high-peaked collars -and bridles glittered in the sunlight, and the coats of the horses were -soft and shiny. The tramp of the horses' feet and the rattle of the plough -chains rang out in the cold November air, which had just that touch of -frost which makes the ground crisp for the ploughshare. The men upon the -horses were the pick of the Glen for strength, and carried themselves with -the air of those who had come to do a work. Drumsheugh was judge, and -Saunders being therefore disqualified, the first prize went to young -Burnbrae, the second to Netherton's man, and the third to Tammas Mitchell—who -got seven and sixpence from Hillocks, and bought a shawl for Annie next -Friday. Drumsheugh declared it was rig for rig the cleanest, quickest, -straightest work he had seen in Drumtochty, and when the ploughs ceased -there was not a yard of oat stubble left on Milton. -</p> -<p> -After the last horse had left and the farm was quiet again—no sign -of the day save the squares of fresh brown earth—Drumsheugh went in -alone—he had never before crossed the door—to inquire for -Milton and carry the goodwill of the Glen. Milton had prided himself on -his fluency, and had often amazed religious meetings, but now there was -nothing audible but “gratefu'” and “humbled,” and Drumsheugh set himself -to relieve the situation. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna mak sae muckle o 't man, as if we hed worked yir fairm for a year -an' savit ye frae beggary. We kent ye didna need oor help, but we juist -wantit tae be neeburly an' gie ye a lift tae health. -</p> -<p> -“A'body is pleased ye 're on the mend, and there's no ane o 's that wudna -be prood tae dae ony troke for ye till ye 're able tae manage for yersel; -a 'll come roond masel aince a week an gie a look ower the place.” Milton -said not one word as Drumsheugh rose to go, but the grip of the white hand -that shot out from below the bed-clothes was not unworthy of Drumtochty. -</p> -<p> -“Ye said, Hillocks, that Milton wes a graund speaker,” said Drumsheugh -next Sabbath, “an' a' wes expectin' somethin' by ordinar on Thursday -nicht, but he hedna sax words, an' ilka ane wes separate frae the ither. A -'m judgin' that it's easy tae speak frae the lips, but the words come slow -and sair frae the hert, an' Milton hes a hert; there's nae doot o' that -noo.” - </p> -<p> -On the first Sabbath of the year the people were in the second verse of -the Hundredth Psalm, when Milton, with his family, came into the kirk and -took possession of their pew. Hillocks maintained an unobtrusive but -vigilant watch, and had no fault to find this time with Milton. The doctor -preached on the Law of Love, as he had a way of doing at the beginning of -each year, and was quite unguarded in his eulogium of brotherly kindness, -but Milton did not seem to find anything wrong in the sermon. Four times—Hillocks -kept close to facts—he nodded in grave approval, and once, when the -doctor insisted with great force that love did more than every power to -make men good, Milton was evidently carried, and blew his nose needlessly. -Hillocks affirmed stoutly that the crumpled pound note found in the -recesses of the ladle that day came from Milton, and corroborative -evidence accumulated in a handsome gown sent to Saunders' wife for the -lead he gave the ploughs that famous day, and a box of tea, enough to last -her time, received by blind old Barbara Stewart. Milton was another man, -and when he appeared once more at the station and went into a compartment -left to Kildrummie, Drumsheugh rescued him with a show of violence and -brought him into the midst of Drumtochty, who offered him exactly six -different boxes on the way to the Junction, and reviewed the crops on -Milton for the last two years in a distinctly conciliatory spirit. -</p> -<p> -Milton fought his battle well, and only once alluded to the past. -</p> -<p> -“It wes ma misfortune,” he said to Drumsheugh, as they went home from kirk -together, “tae mix wi' fouk that coonted words mair than deeds, an' were -prooder tae open a prophecy than tae dae the wull o' God. -</p> -<p> -“We thocht that oor knowledge wes deeper an' oor life better than oor -neeburs', an' a've been sairly punished. Gin a' hed been bred in -Drumtochty, a' micht never hae been a byword, but a' thank God that ma -laist years 'ill be spent amang true men, an', Drumsheugh, a'm prayin' -that afore a' dee a' also may be... a richt man.” - </p> -<p> -This was how Drumsheugh found Milton walking in crooked paths and brought -him into the way of righteousness, and Milton carried himself so well -afterwards that Drumsheugh had only one regret, and that was that Jamie -Soutar had not lived to see that even in Milton there was the making of a -man. -</p> -<p> -<br /><br /> -</p> -<hr /> -<p> -<a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> -</p> -<div style="height: 4em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> -<h2> -OOR LANG HAME -</h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>ETER Bruce was puzzled by a passenger who travelled from the Junction on -a late October day, and spoke with a mixed accent. He would not be more -than forty years of age, but his hair was grey, and his face bore the -marks of unchangeable sorrow. Although he was not a working man, his -clothes were brushed to the bone, and his bag could not contain many -luxuries. There was not any doubt about his class, yet he did not seem -willing to enter the third, but wandered up and down the train, as if -looking for a lost carriage. As he passed beyond the van he appeared to -have found what he was seeking, and Peter came upon him examining the old -Kildrummie third, wherein Jamie Sou-tar had so often held forth, and which -was now planted down on the side of the line as a storehouse for tools and -lamps. The stranger walked round the forlorn remains and peered in at a -window, as if to see the place where he or some one else he knew had sat. -</p> -<p> -“Ye ken the auld third,” said Peter, anxious to give a lead; “it 's been -aff the rails for mair than twal years; it gies me a turn at times tae see -it sittin' there like a freend that's fa'en back in the warld.” - </p> -<p> -As the stranger gave no sign, Peter attached himself to his door—under -pretext of collecting the tickets—and dealt skilfully with the -mystery. He went over the improvements in Kildrummie, enlarging on the new -U. P. kirk and the extension of the Gasworks. When these stirring tales -produced no effect, the conclusion was plain. -</p> -<p> -“It's a fell step tae Drumtochty, an' ye 'll be the better o' the -dogcairt. Sandie 's still tae the fore, though he's failin' like's a'; -wull a' tell the engine driver tae whustle for't?” - </p> -<p> -“No, I 'll walk... better folk than I have tramped that road... with -loads, too.” And then, as he left the station, the unknown said, as if -recollecting his native tongue, “Gude day, Peter; it is a comfort tae sae -ae kent face aifter mony changes.” - </p> -<p> -Something hindered the question on Peter's lips, but he watched the -slender figure—which seemed bent with an invisible burden—till -it disappeared, and then the old man shook his head. -</p> -<p> -“It beats me tae pit a name on him, an' he didna want tae be askit; but -whaever he may be, he 's sair stricken. Yon's the saddest face 'at hes -come up frae the Junction sin a' hoddit Flora Campbell in the second. An' -a'm judgin' he 'ill be waur tae comfort.” - </p> -<p> -The road to Drumtochty, after it had thrown off Kildrummie, climbed a -hill, and passed through an open country till it plunged into the pine -woods. The wind was fresh, blowing down from the Grampians, with a -suggestion of frost, and the ground was firm underfoot. The pungent scent -of ripe turnips was in the air, mingled, as one passed a stackyard, with -the smell of the newly gathered grain, whose scattered remains clung to -the hedges. As the lonely man passed one homestead, a tramp was leaving -the door, pursued with contempt. -</p> -<p> -“Awa wi' ye, or a'll louse the dog,” an honest woman was saying. “Gin ye -were a puir helpless body a 'd gie ye meat an' drink, but an able-bodied -man sud be ashamed tae beg. Hae ye nae speerit that ye wud hang upon ither -fouk for yir livin'?” - </p> -<p> -The vagabond only bent his head and went on his way, but so keen was the -housewife's tongue that it brought a faint flush of shame to his cheek. As -soon as she had gone in again, and the two men were alone on the road, the -one with the sad face gave some silver to the outcast. -</p> -<p> -“Don't thank me—begin again somewhere... I was a tramp myself once,” - and he hurried on as one haunted by the past. -</p> -<p> -His pace slackened as he entered the pines, and the kindly shelter and the -sweet fragrance seemed to give him peace. In the centre of the wood there -was an open space, with a pool and a clump of gorse. He sat down and -rested his' head on his hands for a while; then he took two letters out of -his pocket that were almost worn away with handling, and this was the -first he read: -</p> -<p> -“Ye mind that the laist time we met wes in Drumtochty kirkyaird, an' that -I said hard things tae ye aboot yir laziness and yir conduct tae yir -grandmither. Weel, a 'm sorry for ma words this day, no that they werena -true, for ye ken they were, but because a 've tae send waesome news tae -ye, an' a' wush a kinder man hed been the writer. -</p> -<p> -“Ye ken that yir sister Lily gaed up tae London an' took a place. Weel, -she hes served wi' sic faithfulness that she 'ill no be here tae welcome -ye gin ye come back again. A' happened tae be in London at the time, and -wes wi' Lily when she slippit awa, an' she bade me tell ye no tae lose -hert, for ae body at least believed in ye, an' wes expeck in' ye tae turn -oot weel. -</p> -<p> -“A' wush that were a', for it's eneuch for ye tae bear, gin ye be a man -an' hae a memory. But tribbles aye rin in pairs. Yir grandmither kept up -till the beerial wes ower, an' then she took tae her bed for a week. A 'll -never be up again,' she said tae me, 'an' a 'll no be lang here.' We laid -her aside Lily, an' she sent the same word tae ye wi' her last breath: -'Tell Chairlie a' wes thinkin' aboot him till the end, an' that a'm sure -ma lassie's bairn 'ill come richt some day.' -</p> -<p> -“This letter 'ill gie ye a sair hert for mony a day, but ye wull coont the -sairness a blessing an' no an ill. Never lat it slip frae yir mind that -twa true weemen loved ye an' prayed for ye till the laist, deem' wi' yir -name on their lips. Ye 'ill be a man yet, Chairlie. -</p> -<p> -“Dinna answer this letter—answer yon fond herts that luve an' pray -for ye. Gin ye be ever in tribble, lat me ken. A' wes yir grand-mither's -freend and Lily's freend; sae lang as a'm here, coont me yir freend for -their sake. -</p> -<p> -“James Soutar.” - </p> -<p> -It was half an hour before he read the second letter. -</p> -<p> -“Dear Chairlie,—A 'm verra sober noo, an' canna rise; but gin ony -medeecine cud hae cured me, it wud hae been yir letter. A' thae years a've -been sure ye were fechtin' yir battle, an' that some day news wud come o' -yir victory. -</p> -<p> -“Man, ye've dune weel—a pairtner, wi' a hoose o' yir ain, an' sic an -income. Ye aye hed brains, an' noo ye've turned them tae accoont. A' -withdraw every word a' ca'd ye, for ye 're an honour noo tae Drumtochty. -Gin they hed only been spared tae ken o' yir success! -</p> -<p> -“A 've divided the money amang yir sisters in Muirtown, and Doctor -Davidson 'ill pit the lave intae a fund tae help puir laddies wi' their -education. Yir name 'ill never appear, but a 'm prood tae think o' yir -leeberality, and mony will bless ye. Afore this reaches ye in America a -'ll be awa, and ithers roond me are near their lang hame. Ye 'ill maybe -tak a thocht o' veesiting the Glen some day, but a' doot the neeburs that -githered in the kirkyaird 'ill no be here tae wush ye weel, as a' dae this -day. A 'm glad a' lived tae get yir letter. God be wi' ye.” - </p> -<p> -The letter dropped from his hand, and the exile looked into the far -distance with something between a smile and a tear. -</p> -<p> -“They were gude men 'at githered ablow the beech-tree in the kirkyaird on -a Sabbath mornin',” he said aloud, and the new accent had now lost itself -altogether in an older tongue; “and there wesna a truer hert amang them a' -than Jamie. Gin he hed been'spared tae gie me a shak o' his hand, a' wud -hae been comforted; an' aifter him a' wud like a word, -</p> -<p> -“James Soutar.” - </p> -<p> -Frae Drumsheugh. -</p> -<p> -A' wunner gin he be still tae the fore. -</p> -<p> -“Na, na,” and his head fell on his chest, “it's no possible; o' a' the -generation 'at condemned me, no ane 'ill be leevin' tae say forgiven. But -a' cudna hae come hame suner—till a' hed redeemed masel.” - </p> -<p> -He caught the sound of a cart from the Glen, and a sudden fear overcame -him at the meet-of the first Drumtochty man. His first movement was to the -shelter of the wood; then he lay down behind the gorse and watched the -bend of the road. It was a double cart, laden with potatoes for Kildrummie -station, and the very horses had a homely look; while the driver was -singing in a deep, mellow voice, “Should auld acquaintance be forgot.” The -light was on his face, and the wanderer recognised him at once. They had -been at school together, and were of the same age, but there was not a -grey hair in young Burnbrae's beard, nor a line on his face. -</p> -<p> -As the cart passed, Grant watched the tram, and marked that the Christian -name was in fresh paint. -</p> -<p> -“It 's James, no John, noo. Burnbrae hesna feenished his lease, an' a'm -thinkin' Jean 'ill no hae lasted long aifter him. He wes a gude man, an' -he hed gude sons.” - </p> -<p> -The cart was a mile on the road, and Burn-brae's song had long died into -silence among the pines, before Grant rose from the ground and went on his -way. -</p> -<p> -There is a certain point where the road from Kildrummie disentangles -itself from the wood, and begins the descent to Tochty Bridge. Drumtochty -exiles used to stand there for a space and rest their eyes on the Glen -which they could now see, from the hills that made its western wall to the -woods of Tochty that began below the parish kirk, and though each man -might not be able to detect the old home, he had some landmark—a -tree or a rise of the hill—to distinguish the spot where he was -born, and if such were still his good fortune, where true hearts were -waiting to bid him welcome. Two Drumtochty students returning in the -spring with their honours might talk of learned studies and resume their -debates coming through the wood, but as the trees thinned conversation -languished, and then the lads would go over to the style. No man said -aught unto his neighbour as they drank in the Glen, but when they turned -and went down the hill, a change had come over them. -</p> -<p> -“Man, Dauvid,” Ross would say—with three medals to give to his -mother, who had been all day making ready for his arrival, and was already -watching the upland road—“far or near, ye 'ill never fin' a bonnier -burn than the Tochty; see yonder the glisk o 't through the bridge as it -whummels ower the stanes and shimmers in the evening licht.” - </p> -<p> -“An' Hillocks's haughs,” cried Baxter, who was supposed to think in Hebrew -and had won a Fellowship for foreign travel, “are green an' sweet the -nicht, wi' the bank o' birks ahint them, an' a' saw the hill abune yir -hame, Jock, an' it wes glistenin' like the sea.” - </p> -<p> -Quite suddenly, at the sight of the Glen, and for the breath of it in -their lungs, they had become Drumtochty again, to the names they had -called one another in Domsie's school, and as they came to the bottom of -the hill, they raced to see who first would reach the crest of the ancient -bridge that might have been Marshal Wade's for its steepness, and then -were met on the other side by Hillocks, who gave them joyful greeting in -name of the parish. But not even Hillocks, with all his blandishments, -could wile them within doors that evening. John Ross saw his mother -shading her eyes at the garden gate and wearying for the sight of his head -above the hill, and already David Baxter seemed to hear his father's -voice, “God bless ye, laddie; welcome hame, and weel dune.” For the choice -reward of a true man's work is not the applause of the street, which comes -and goes, but the pride of them that love him. -</p> -<p> -What might have been so came upon this emigrant as he gazed upon the Glen, -that the driver of the Kildrummie bread cart, a man quite below the -average of Drumtochty intelligence, was struck by the hopelessness of his -attitude, and refrained from a remark on the completion of harvest which -he had been offering freely all day. They were threshing at Hillocks's -farm that day, and across the river Grant saw the pleasant bustle in the -stackyard and heard the hum of the mill. It used to be believed that -Hillocks held a strategic position of such commanding power that no one -had ever crossed that bridge without his supervision—except on -Friday when he was in Muirtown—and so strong was the wayfarer's -longing for some face of the former time, that he loitered opposite the -barn door, in hopes that a battered hat, dating from the middle of the -century and utilised at times for the protection of potatoes, might -appear, and a voice be heard, “A 've seen a waur day, ye 'ill be gaein' up -the Glen,” merely as a preliminary to more searching investigation at what -was the frontier of Drumtochty. Hillocks also must be dead, and as for the -others, they were too busy with their work to give any heed to a stranger. -A gust of wind catching up the chaff, whirled it across the yard and -powdered his coat. The prodigal accepted the omen, and turned himself to -the hill that went up to Mary's cottage. -</p> -<p> -He had planned to pass the place, and then from the footpath to the -kirkyard to have looked down on the home of his boyhood, but he need not -have taken precautions. No one was there to question or recognise him; -Mary's little house was empty and forsaken. The thatch had fallen in with -the weight of winter snows, the garden gate was lying on the walk, the -scrap of ground once so carefully kept was overgrown with weeds. Grant -opened the unlatched door—taking off his hat—and stood in the -desolate kitchen. He sat down on the edge of the box-bed no one had -thought it worth while to remove, and covered his face while memory awoke. -The fire again burned on the hearth, and was reflected from the dishes on -the opposite wall; the table was spread for supper, and he saw his wooden -bicker with the black horn spoon beside it; Mary sat in her deep old -armchair, and stirred the porridge sputtering in the pot; a rosy-cheeked -laddie curled in a heap at his grandmother's feet saw great marvels in the -magic firelight. -</p> -<p> -“Get up, Chairlie, an' we 'ill tak oor supper, an' then ye'ill feenish yir -lessons. Domsie says ye hae the makin' o' a scholar, gin ye work hard -eneuch, an' a' ken ye 'ill dae that for yir auld grannie's sake an' yir -puir mither's, wunna ye, ma mannie?” but when her hand fell on his head, -he rose suddenly and made for the other room, the “ben” of this humble -home. -</p> -<p> -A little bit of carpet on the floor; four horsehair chairs, one with David -and Goliath in crochet-work on its back; a brass fender that had often -revealed to Mary the secret pride of the human heart; shells on the -mantel-piece in which an inland laddie could hear the roar of the sea, -with peacock's feathers also, and a spotted china dog which was an almost -speaking likeness of the minister of Kildrummie; a mahogany chest of -drawers—the chairs were only birch, but we can't have everything in -this world—whereon lay the Family Bible and the <i>Pilgrim s -Progress</i> and Rutherford's Letters, besides a box with views of the -London Exhibition that were an endless joy. This was what rose before his -eyes, in that empty place. Within the drawers were kept the Sabbath -clothes, and in this room a laddie was dressed for kirk, after a searching -and remorseless scrubbing in the “but,” and here he must sit motionless -till it was time to start, while Mary, giving last touches to the fire and -herself, maintained a running exhortation, “Gin ye brak that collar or -rumple yir hair, peety ye, the 'ill be nae peppermint-drop for you in the -sermon the day.” Here also an old woman whose hands were hard with work -opened a secret place in those drawers, and gave a young man whose hands -were white her last penny. -</p> -<p> -“Ye 'ill be carefu', Chairlie, an' a'll try tae send ye somethin' till ye -can dae for yirsel, an', laddie, dinna forget... yer Bible nor yir hame, -for we expect ye tae be a credit tae 's a'.” Have mercy, O God! -</p> -<p> -Within and without it was one desolation—full of bitter memories and -silent reproaches—save in one corner, where a hardy rose-tree had -held its own, and had opened the last flower of the year. With a tender, -thankful heart, the repentant prodigal plucked its whiteness, and wrapped -it in Jamie's letters. -</p> -<p> -Our kirkyard was' on a height facing the south, with the massy Tochty -woods on one side and the manse on the other, while down below—a -meadow between—the river ran, so that its sound could just be heard -in clear weather. From its vantage one could see the Ochils as well as one -of the Lomonds, and was only cut off from the Sidlaws by Tochty woods. It -was not well kept, after the town's fashion, having no walk, save the -broad track to the kirk door and a narrower one to the manse garden; no -cypresses or weeping willows or beds of flowers—only four or five -big trees had flung their kindly shadow for generations over the place -where the fathers of the Glen took their long rest; no urns, obelisks, -broken columns, and such-like pagan monuments, but grey, worn stones, some -lying flat, some standing on end, with a name and date, and two crosses, -one to George Howe, the Glen's lost scholar, and the other to William -Maclure, who had loved the Glen even unto death. There was also a marble -tablet let into the eastern wall of the church, where the first ray of the -sun fell, -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -Sacred to the memory of Rev. Alexander Davidson, D.D., - -for fifty years the faithful Minister of Drumtochty. -</pre> -<p> -Beside the beech-tree where the fathers used to stand were two stones. The -newer had on it simply “Lachlan Campbell,” for it was Lachlan's wish that -he should be buried with Drumtochty. “They are good people, Flora,” he -said the day he died, “and they dealt kindly by us in the time of our -trouble.” But the older was covered with names, and these were the last, -which filled up the space and left no space for another: -</p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> -Lily Grant, aged 23, a servant lass. - -Mary Robertson, aged 75. -</pre> -<p> -Charlie knelt on the turf before the stone, and, taking off his hat, -prayed God his sins might be forgiven, and that one day he might meet the -trusting hearts that had not despaired of his return. -</p> -<p> -He rose uncomforted, however, and stood beneath the beech, where Jamie -Soutar had once lashed him for his unmanliness. Looking down, he saw the -fields swept clean of grain; he heard the sad murmur of the water, that -laughed at the shortness of life; withered leaves fell at his feet, and -the October sun faded from the kirkyard. A chill struck to his heart, -because there was none to receive his repentance, none to stretch out to -him a human hand, and bid him go in peace. -</p> -<p> -He was minded to creep away softly and leave Drumtochty forever—his -heart full of a vain regret—when he found there was another mourner -in the kirkyard. An old man was carefully cleaning the letters of -Maclure's name, and he heard him saying aloud: -</p> -<p> -“It disna maitter though, for he 's in oor herts an' canna be forgotten. -Ye 've hed a gude sleep, Weelum, an' sair ye needed it. Some o's 'ill no -be lang o' followin' ye noo.” - </p> -<p> -Then he went over to Geordie's grave and read a fresh inscription: -</p> -<p> -Margaret Howe, his mother. -</p> -<p> -“They're thegither noo,” he said softly, “an' content. O Marget, Marget,” - and the voice was full of tears, “there wes nane like ye.” - </p> -<p> -As he turned to go, the two men met, and Grant recognised Drumsheugh. -</p> -<p> -“Gude nicht, Drumsheugh,” he said; “a' ken yir face, though ye hae -forgotten mine, an' nae doot it 's sair changed wi' sin and sorrow.” - </p> -<p> -“Are ye Drumtochty?” and Drumsheugh examined Charlie closely; “there wes a -day when a' cud hae pit his name on every man that cam oot o' the Glen in -ma time, but ma een are no what they were, an' a'm failin' fast masel.” - </p> -<p> -“Ay, a' wes born an' bred in Drumtochty, though the pairish micht weel be -ashamed o' ma name. A' cam tae visit ma dead, an' a'm gaein' awa for gude. -Naebody hes seen me but yersel, an' a 'll no deny a 'm pleased tae get a -sicht o' yir face.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're no,” and then Drumsheugh held out his hand, “Chairlie Grant. Man, -a'm gled a' cam intae the kirkyaird this day, and wes here tae meet ye. A' -bid ye welcome for the Glen and them 'at's gane.” - </p> -<p> -“A'm no worthy, Drumsheugh, either o' them 'at's livin' or them 'at's -dead, but Gude kens a've repentit, an' the grip o' an honest hand, an' -maist o' a' yir ain, 'ill gie me hert for the days tae come.” - </p> -<p> -“Nane o's is worthy o' some of them 'at's lyin' here, Chairlie, naither -you nor me, but it's no them 'at will be hardest on oor fauts. Na, na, -they ken an' luve ower muckle, an' a 'm houpin' that's sae... wi' the -Almichty. -</p> -<p> -“Man, Chairlie, it did me gude tae hear that ye hed played the man in -Ameriky, and that ye didna forget the puir laddies o' Drumtochty. Ay, -Jamie telt me afore he deed, an' prood he wes aboot ye. 'Lily's gotten her -wish,' he said; 'a' kent she wud.' -</p> -<p> -“He wes sure ye wud veesit the auld Glen some day, an' wes feared there -wudna be a freend tae gie ye a word. Ye wes tae slip awa tae Muirtown the -nicht withoot a word, an' nane o's tae ken ye hed been here? Na, na, gin -there be a cauld hearth in yir auld hame, there 's a warm corner in ma -hoose for Lily's brither,” and so they went home together. -</p> -<p> -When they arrived, Saunders was finishing the last stack, and broke -suddenly into speech. -</p> -<p> -“Ye thocht, Drumsheugh, we would never get that late puckle in, but here -it is, safe and soond, an' a'll warrant it 'ill buke (bulk) as weel as ony -in the threshin'.” - </p> -<p> -“Ye're richt, Saunders, and a bonnie stack it maks;” and then Charlie -Grant went in with Drumsheugh to the warmth and the kindly light, while -the darkness fell upon the empty harvest field, from which the last sheaf -had been safely garnered. -</p> -<div style="height: 6em;"> -<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Days of Auld Lang Syne, by Ian MacLaren - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DAYS OF AULD LANG SYNE *** - -***** This file should be named 43726-h.htm or 43726-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/7/2/43726/ - -Produced by David Widger - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” - or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from -the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method -you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is -owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he -has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the -Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments -must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you -prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax -returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and -sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the -address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to -the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies -you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he -does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License. You must require such a user to return or -destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium -and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of -Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any -money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the -electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days -of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free -distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 -North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: -Dr. Gregory B. Newby -Chief Executive and Director -gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - -www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> |